


Keep Your Friends Close but Your Enemies Closer

by ysmccool



Category: due South
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drama, First Time, M/M, Series, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-10-09
Updated: 2003-10-09
Packaged: 2018-11-11 06:38:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11142909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ysmccool/pseuds/ysmccool
Summary: A monster is targeting boys on the streets of Chicago. Will LouisGardino set aside his hatred of Ray Vecchio to ask for his help?





	Keep Your Friends Close but Your Enemies Closer

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

  
Keep Your Friends Close but Your Enemies Closer

## Keep Your Friends Close but Your Enemies Closer

by YS McCool

Author's website: https://www.squidge.org/~flashpoint/

Disclaimer: Due South characters belong to Alliance Television, no copyright infringement is intended. Original characters are the sole property of the author YS McCool.

Author's Notes: The second in the Don Vecchio Series.

Story Notes: 

This story is a sequel to: A Token of Friendship 

* * *
    
    
              Keep Your Friends Close, But Your Enemies Closer
                                By YS McCool
    

Benton Fraser desperately wanted to get away from Ottawa. He'd spent the last two weeks going over and over the events surrounding his father's death and the attack on him and his friends at the cabin. The Americans had been sent home the very next day. Constable Turnbull had been held for two days longer then sent back to Chicago. Benton was still here. 

Right now he was shut up in another empty office while the higher ups discussed and debated his future. 

A gentle knock announced a slender, handsome black man in his early thirties. "Hello, Constable Fraser, I'm Martin Joyner. Mister Vecchio sent me along to sort out your legal status here." He offered his hand to Ben. 

Fraser stood up and shook the offered hand. "That was very considerate of Mister Vecchio, but I don't believe my situation warrants a lawyer." Ben had talked to Ray just two days earlier and they'd spoken of many things but a lawyer had not been one of them. 

Martin laughed softly. The sound was like the wind going through wild flowers and barely knocking away the dew. Women must lose their minds when he did that. "Constable, it is long past time for you to have retained legal counsel." 

"But you're an American attorney. You won't have any standing in Canada," Ben pointed out, though he was convinced Joyner wouldn't be employed by Ray Vecchio if he hadn't figured that part out first. 

Joyner smiled. "I'm a practicing attorney in Canada, Mexico, Italy, Britain, and Australia. In fact, you can hardly escape the tendrils of my power." He said that last part so dryly that Ben could not help but laugh. 

"I see," Ben chuckled. 

"Just go along with me, and you'll be getting on with your life in a fully dignified manner before the end of the day," Martin said confidently. 

"A bureaucrat's ability to wrap things in red tape is legendary," Ben warned. 

"And a lawyer's ability to scare the crap out of a bureaucrat is equally legendary. The trick is to be ready to back up everything you say. Trust me, I'm more than ready." Martin patted Ben on the back. 

Ben was not getting his hopes up. He could easily see himself drifting between these offices until he retired or simply resigned. He was convinced they were waiting for the latter. Benton Fraser did not intend to give them the satisfaction. 

Just four minutes after Joyner arrived they were shown into Deputy Director Havelock's office. The smile stayed on the older man's face, but his eyes widened. 

"Constable, who is this?" the man asked, teeth slightly clenched. 

"I'm his attorney of record, Martin Joyner. And before you feel compelled to point out my American accent, I have to tell you that I have credentials in Canada as well as the support of the firm Joyner, Mackenzie, and Dupont." He smiled like the well-dressed shark he probably was. 

"I have no idea why you felt you needed a lawyer, Constable," Havelock began; making his first mistake by not addressing Joyner first. 

Martin squeezed Ben's arm. "A lawyer is exactly what my client needs," Joyner said firmly. 

Havelock tented his fingers. "And why is that?" he asked, finally addressing the man. 

"Constable Fraser cannot complete his leave, he cannot work, he cannot leave town, and he has to report to this building every day at 7:30 a.m. and cannot leave until 6:00 that evening. He is, for all practical purposes, your prisoner. Therefore, you will either charge him with something, or I will come down on your department like a blizzard." Joyner leaned closer to Havelock. "If you thought the press chewed you a new one over the murder of his father, wait until you see the stories about the humiliation and harassment of the son." 

"There is no need for threats, Mister Joyner," Havelock insisted. 

"That's not a threat, Havelock, that's a prediction," Joyner said softly. He crossed his arms. "Even now your fertile little imagination is finally coming up with some of the things that the Constable could sue this department for, but we all know I can do much better than you can imagine." He smiled and exuded confidence. "We can start with the massive cover-up of his father's murder and continue with you leaving him hanging out to dry while your man, using your department's resources, went after him." 

Havelock paled. "I don't think that will be necessary." 

"It will be if we don't leave this office with what we want," Joyner explained. 

"And what would that be?" Havelock asked, his jaw set in a stubborn line. 

. . . . 

"So you're a sergeant," Ray said admiringly. "That's great, Benny. You really deserve it." Somehow hearing Ray say it made it real. 

"And I have my choice of assignments," Ben continued with his report. 

"Oh, you're not coming back to Chicago?" Ray asked, sounding surprised. 

"Chicago is one of my choices, but I've also been offered the Paris or Rome consulates," Ben explained. "Any of them would be quite an honor." 

"Benny, I don't know how to put this, but not one of those places are in Canada," Ray noted. 

Ben appreciated the kindness of the man's voice. "I've been kicked out of the country, Ray." 

"Damn," Ray hissed. "I'm the loud one and I've never even been kicked out of a theater, but you, the nicest man in North America, have been kicked out of your country?" Ray sighed. "There is no justice." 

"It's not permanent, Ray. It's just until the fuss dies down," Benny insisted. 

"All right, all right," Ray replied, using his calming voice. "Have you decided where you want to go?" he asked. 

"That's why I called, Ray. I still have four weeks of leave I need to take before I begin my new assignment. Can I visit you?" he asked. 

"Sure," Ray answered immediately. "You can meet my boys and come with us to Florida." 

"Florida? That sounds very nice, Ray." Ben remembered his fantasy of standing in the warm water with sand under his toes and Ray in his arms. It was heavenly. 

"You'll have a ball. I promise," Ray said, his voice rising with a bit of excitement. "It will give me a chance to get you addicted to Chicago." 

"I'm already addicted to you," Ben confessed. 

"Aw Benny, you're making me all hot and bothered," Ray whispered. 

That sounded like heaven to Ben. 

"Benny, did you want to go to Paris or Rome?" Ray asked suddenly. "I don't want to hold you back." 

"No, Ray, but I will go if I need to," Ben answered. 

"Based on what?" Ray asked. "Do you need the Chicago deal sweetened?" 

Ben blushed, even though Ray couldn't see him. "It's already sweet, Ray," he insisted. "I'm just--" 

"Scared?" Ray suggested. 

Ben felt as if he'd just swallowed something metallic. "Yes, I am. Frankly, I thought after the case had been solved that you would--" 

"Brush you off like lint from a black suit?" Ray suggested. 

Was the man running around in Ben's head and peeking in the corners? 

"Yes," Ben agreed. 

"Benny, I'm straightforward to the point of sin. I enjoy your company. Come on back and we'll see where it goes. Okay?" Ray paused. "Come home, Benny. Venga a casa." 

It wasn't an order, but it sounded like one, and Ben enjoyed that. It was a command he'd been waiting to hear for a long time. "I'll see you in two days," he promised. 

"Good. Will Diefenbaker have to go through quarantine again?" Ray asked. 

"Not this time," Ben answered. "He's cleared." 

"Good for him. Let me know what plane you'll be on and I'll pick you up. If you're wondering, that wasn't a request," Ray added firmly. 

"I'll call you as soon as I know," Ben promised. "Goodbye, Ray." 

"See you soon, Benny," Ray responded before hanging up the phone. 

Ben held the phone against his chest for a few heartbeats. "He told me to come home, Diefenbaker," he announced to his companion. 

Diefenbaker looked up and huffed. 

"It would have been presumptuous of me to assume he wanted me to take the Chicago assignment," Ben explained patiently. "He has a daughter, two sons, his mother, two sisters, a brother, and his businesses to consider. Ray Vecchio is a committed and busy man. I could get in his way." 

Diefenbaker slightly closed his left eye and sniffed. 

"Diefenbaker! You do not smell me in rut!" Ben stalked away, thoroughly insulted. As soon as he was out of sight of his half-wolf, Ben raised his arms and sniffed. Perhaps his friend was right; he did already smell in rut and just from hearing Ray's magical voice. "I'm coming home, Ray." 

<<==============>>

Paul stepped into the rest stop's bathroom and went into the unoccupied stall. He wadded some tissue into his hand and pressed it against his aching ass. He didn't want to look; didn't even want to know, but he checked anyway. There was blood. He was bleeding a lot. His pants were wet with it and his underwear was gone. 

To his right, the pink head of a cock began to poke through a hole Paul hadn't noticed before. Paul wanted to kick it and hurt the bastard the way another man had just hurt him. Instead, he started to cry. Dry aching sobs racked him. No tears this time; he'd run out of them. 

The door to the stall opened suddenly and a huge black man looked in on him. Paul turned toward the hole and saw that the cock had been withdrawn and he could hear the owner cursing. 

"Did he hurt you?" the big man demanded. 

Paul shook his head. Hell, his whole body was shaking. 

The big man stepped forward and took Paul's hand. He turned it over, exposing the bloodied tissues and shit. 

"Did this happen here?" he asked. 

"No... I was dumped here," Paul managed to reply. 

"Stand up," the man ordered. 

Paul obeyed, still wondering if things had gotten better or worse. The man looked over Paul's shoulder and into the toilet bowl. Paul turned and looked too. Blood made abstract designs in the water inside the silver bowl. Paul started to throw the tissue into the bowl and flush it, but the man stopped him. 

"Its evidence, kid," the man said. "Pull up your clothes and come out of there." 

Paul obeyed; glad to hear something solid sounding over the chaos of his inner thoughts. 

The man, Paul hadn't heard a name, pulled out a cell phone and punched in 3 numbers. "Operator, this is Hershel Bennett, I'm at the Whilshire Memorial Rest Stop. I've found a rape victim in the men's bathroom. He said he was dumped here." The man paused and glanced at Paul. "White male, 15 or 16, blond, skinny, and pale as a ghost. You need to hurry up with that ambulance, he's really bleeding." 

Paul was a rape victim. That sounded so awful that Paul began to cry again. 

<<==============>>

Louis Gardino hated hospitals and that was made extra unpleasant by having to look in on a kid who had been savaged by the sick bastard Louis had failed to catch. Louis was a fumble-mouth when it came to speaking to female rape victims, but when it came to talking to male victims, he was down right spastic. He let his partner, Jack Huey, do the talking while he threw in the occasional nod and reassuring noise. 

The "Limo Molester," as the cops were calling their perp, had taken six victims, who they knew about, in the last three weeks. The shrink said that there were probably a lot more victims and the man had been doing it for a lot longer than three weeks. She also said that the violence was escalating. 

Louis got the chills every time he thought about those words and he thought about it a lot. 

"Can you tell me what he looked like?" Jack asked in his soft, comforting voice. It was a voice that was so comforting that their victim actually stopped sniffling to listen to it. Louis loved that voice. Jack managed to look like that hard plastic chair wasn't leaving his butt numb. 

"He was tall, over six feet, white, balding, and rich," Paul Goddard reported. "Tito said it was alright. He..." The young man choked. 

"Take your time," Jack encouraged. 

The last thing they needed was for this talking victim to take his time. The previous victim wasn't talking and Louis couldn't remember if the kid even blinked when he saw him. The doctors said he had withdrawn and refused to acknowledge what had happened to him. Victims one through four could talk but weren't. Not once they were out of the hospital. Shame is a great silencer. 

"Tito got Bulls tickets from him last month," Paul continued. "You didn't have to do anything... not really." The kid's eyes flicked from Louis back to Jack. "You know... I'm not a fag." 

Louis sighed but quietly. It was an old song, and he was sick of hearing it. Their perp didn't care whether his victims were straight, gay, bisexual, or even plant-lovers. He wanted to hurt very young men. What they wanted beyond what it took to get them in the car was not the man's concern. 

"Tito is one of your friends?" Jack asked. 

Paul nodded. "He wouldn't have set me up," the young man insisted. Louis wasn't sure if the kid was trying to convince them or him. Thinking your friend had sent you off with a monster could keep you up at night or send you off on a killing spree. 

"So Tito had gone with him before but not this time?" Jack asked, seeking clarification. 

"Yeah, she said only one ride per customer," Paul answered. 

"She?" Jack inquired. 

"The driver," the kid explained. 

"Did you catch the license plate on the limo?" Louis asked after the victim had stopped talking for almost a minute. Jack had patience, Louis didn't. They balanced each other out that way. 

Jack scowled at Louis, letting him know with his very expressive eyes that he had broken up his rhythm. 

"Illinois plates with a 42 and a B1 in it," Paul recalled. 

Elaine would probably throw something at them for that sketchy bit of information for her research, but it was the only clue to the plate they'd gotten so far. 

"Where did he pick you up?" Jack asked, going back into his rhythm. 

"In front of Cyberpunk," Paul answered. The video game/cyber cafe must have evoked fond memories because he began to sniff again. 

"Is that where he picked up Tito?" Jack inquired. 

"No... I don't think so." Paul looked down where the IV had been inserted into his hand. 

"What's Tito's last name?" Louis asked; glad to have a line of inquiry to follow for once. 

"He's not in any trouble, Paul," Jack assured the young man, "but we have to find this man and get him off the streets. The next young man he picks up might not be as strong as you and he may die. We need your help and we need Tito to help too. I'm sure he'd want to help a friend who had been hurt following his word." 

Paul nodded and looked reassured. Louis didn't think he could cover for a friend he even halfway suspected of setting him up to be raped. 

"Tito Mendoza. He goes to St. Edwards School with me," Paul added. "He lives in the Philly Heights apartments." 

Jack smiled. "Paul, we'll want you to work with an artist so we have something to go by when we nail this man. Can you do that for us?" 

Paul nodded. "I want to help." 

"Good," Jack replied as if Paul was being very brave, and he was. 

"Can you tell us what happened to you, Paul?" Jack asked now that he and Paul were so obviously on the same page. 

Paul took a deep breath and the expression on his face made Louis fear they had finally lost him. Jack took the young man's hand and their victim visibly relaxed. 

"I hit Cyberpunk around six thirty. You know, right after dinner. It was kind of dead and I didn't have enough money to go online in Duel Swords--" 

"Duel Swords?" Louis interrupted and regretted it instantly. Jack's disapproving look was like a blow. 

"It's a role-playing game, and I have two good characters I'm running in it, but you have to pay cash before you can log in," Paul explained. 

"So your pockets were light?" Jack prompted, getting the young man back on track. 

"Yeah, so I was going to head home because I only had enough money for the games, but there wasn't anyone there to team up with for my favorite shoot 'em up." The machine pumped up the cuff on Paul's upper arm to automatically take his blood pressure. The numbers were up and closer to normal. 

"I was hanging on the corner, waiting on the number twelve bus and Tito jumped off the nineteen." So Paul was waiting on the bus that would have taken him straight home when Tito arrived on the bus that would have picked him up from that same neighborhood. If Paul had gotten on the nineteen, it would have eventually taken him home, but it would have cost him two hours. Considering what had happened to him, it would have been time well spent. 

"The limo pulled up and the front window lowered. There was this hot blonde with big tits at the wheel," Paul explained. "She was really hot." 

"I bet she was," Louis agreed. They'd heard vague reports about the woman. The tit description never changed, but the hair color was fluid. "Did she do the talking?" 

"She said hi to Tito but didn't call him by name." Paul crinkled his forehead. "She had a headset on, so the man in the back must have been telling her what to say." 

Paul was the first victim to mention a headset, but the arrangement made sense as their perp didn't want to be seen until it was too late. 

"He must have picked me out," Paul stated, probably now realizing the hot blonde had no interest in him. 

"What did she say?" Jack prompted. 

"Would you like to earn some money, kid? So I asked her 'doing what?' She said 'getting a blowjob', and I laughed. Then she says 'ask your friend'." 

Paul paused. "Tito coughs a bit, then he grins at me and says it's true. 'Last month I got Bulls tickets for letting her blow me and the guy in the back watched. Then they kissed and shared my jizz. It was sick.'" 

"And then what?" Louis prompted, trying to keep the momentum going. 

"Tito rubs himself and licks his lips. 'You back for more?' he asked. 'Only one ride per customer,' she responds. 'No repeats.'" Paul rubbed his left thumb along his left index finger. "I thought they were into something and started to walk away then she calls out 'one hundred'. Tito clucks his tongue and says that I've got more cock than him and I should be paid for it." 

"Was that true?" Louis asked, suddenly suspicious as to how much this Tito person knew and how deeply he was involved. 

"We've had gym together for the last five years," Paul explained. "We've seen each other." 

The young man continued his narrative and Louis promised himself he wouldn't interrupt again. "She said two hundred and Tito pushed me toward the car and said something about me buying the online time the next time he saw me." 

"Is that when you got into the car?" Jack asked. 

Paul placed the heels of his hands against his eyes and rocked back and forth. "It was stupid. I knew it was stupid and I did it anyway. It was so stupid." 

"Yes, it was stupid," Jack agreed, "but that didn't mean you should have been hurt," he assured the kid. "Did you sit in the front or the back when you got in the car?" 

"I sat up front with her," Paul answered. "She kept playing with my leg the whole time while we drove out of town." 

"Where did you stop?" Jack inquired. Louis wanted to know that too. Their other victims had no useful information, even when they were talking. 

"We rolled out to Park Hill," Paul began. Park Hill was one of several bedroom communities that hugged the city. They had their own police department and city government. Even though the crime scene, i.e. the limo, was mobile, they were going to have to alert the Park Hill authorities that a crime had occurred on their turf. 

"Where did you park?" Louis asked, breaking his internal promise to keep his mouth closed. 

"It was Dolly Park; the one right across the street from the A & W." Paul shook. "I used to love the A & W." 

That was a good clue. There couldn't have been more than two Dolly Parking structures in Park Hill and only one near an A & W. That had to give them a location. The Dolly Park was a private business where customers could rent parking spaces near the train station by the month. Their cars were washed, waxed, and vacuumed out every day. You could even arrange for your vehicle to be taken into the car dealership for repair and returned to your parking space while you were at work. 

The fact that the limo could enter the Dolly Park after six in the evening meant that someone connected to the limo had to be a member. 

"Did you see what level you were on?" Jack asked. Membership guaranteed you a space, but spaces were first-come, first-serve. However, according to the literature, every level was monitored. Hopefully, the tapes hadn't been wiped. 

"We were on the roof. I could see the stars when I got out of the front seat and got into the back," Paul responded. "I remember looking up while I moved to the back. It was so quiet that I could hear those two new hundred dollar bills crinkling in my pants pocket." 

Louis noticed that the kid didn't ask about his money. It had made it with him but was covered in the kid's blood. He'd get a check but would never see those bills again, and that was a good thing. 

"Go on," Jack encouraged. "He can't hurt you now." 

"When I got in the back and the lights came up. He was wearing shades. I didn't get a good look at him then 'cause she got in and unzipped my pants and... and pulled out my cock real quick." Paul's voice dropped. "She had my cock in her mouth." He made a motion over his crotch. "The lights got brighter and he started directing what she was doing. It was spooky." 

"Tell me about his voice," Jack whispered. 

Louis was proud of his partner, nothing unusual there. The kid's eyes were probably closed and other than his dick, his attention must have drawn to the man's voice. 

"It was uptown. He didn't curse. Not then or later when he was... hurting me. He sounded almost sleepy." 

"Sleepy?" Louis interrupted again. "Do you mean drugged?" 

"Maybe he was drugged, but his voice sounded off," Paul attempted to explain. His eyes were squeezed shut and Louis was afraid Jack was going to end the interview. 

"And then?" Jack requested. 

"I blew so hard my head hurt. She sat up, leaned toward him, and they kissed." Paul made the sign of the cross. "He... he..." The kid took such a long breath that Louis thought he might pass out. Louis managed to keep his mouth shut this time. 

"He said that there was five hundred in it if I let him blow me. Five hundred dollars is a lot of money." 

"Did you see his face?" Jack asked. 

"Yeah, he took off his shades and looked at me with those cold, black eyes. I'll never forget it. He was slick, rich, and mean. He scared me." Paul fidgeted and he looked at them. 

"What did you tell him?" Louis asked. 

"That I wanted to go home." Paul looked them in the eyes. "I said I wanted to go home." 

"Take a sip of water," Jack suggested as he poured a glass for the kid, "and tell us what happened next." 

Paul sipped the water and set the glass down. "He twitched. His face twitched. He said 'hold him'. She did something to my neck and twisted my arm. I couldn't move or throw her off. She was a woman; I should have been able to throw her off." 

Louis had seen those kinds of pinches before. Someone real small could put down someone much larger. But Paul was also small. Louis guessed the kid couldn't have weighed more than 120 pounds. The woman could have easily outweighed him. 

"She put me face-down on the backseat so hard that I could hardly breathe." Paul looked like the tears were going to come again. 

"She's some kind of professional, Paul," Jack soothed. "You weren't going to defeat that." He patted Paul's upper arm just above the nasty bruise the woman had left there. "Go on, Paul. We're almost finished." 

"I could feel him pulling down my pants. He cut off my shorts and called them a trophy." Paul choked. "It hurt so bad. I screamed and screamed, but he just kept doing it. I begged her to help me." Paul's voice dropped to a tortured whisper. "She laughed and told me I should have taken the money." 

Paul began to cry and Jack held the kid. As big as his partner was, Jack could transform himself into a cuddly teddy bear at will. Jack let the kid cry himself out. 

"When I woke up, I was at the rest stop," Paul finished. 

"Okay, Paul, you did very well. We're going to type up your statement for you to sign." Jack rose from his chair. "We're going to stop this monster with your help." 

Louis led the way out of the private room. A patrolman and Paul's parents flanked the door. 

"I want to thank you for letting us talk to him in private," Jack said to Paul's anxious parents. "I don't think he could have gotten through it with the two of you there." 

"Are you going to catch this bastard?" Paul's father demanded. 

"Yes, we will," Louis promised. 

"Paul was very helpful," Jack explained. "We'll be sending an artist to make a composite." 

<<==============>>

Nailing down a time when both her brothers could answer a call was tough, but Gayle was a Vecchio and that made her tough. At least that's what her father always said. 

"Hello?" RJ called almost at the same time as Daniel. 

"Hello, my loving knot-head siblings," Gayle responded. 

"I told you it was a mistake to teach her to talk," Daniel complained to his brother. 

"We shouldn't have allowed her to learn to walk either," RJ agreed. 

"Boys, boys, don't overwork your single-digit count brain cells," Gayle insisted. 

RJ sighed. "I know you didn't set this up just to insult us. You could have done that by email. What's up?" 

"Is something wrong with Dad?" Daniel, the family worrier, asked. 

"No, and nothing is wrong with any other member of the family," Gayle threw in, "but I do need to talk to both of you before you get home." She paused, but not for long. "I don't know how to really start this, so I'll just jump. Joey fell on his face with Dad." 

"Damn," RJ hissed. "Did Dad turn him down?" 

"Man, Joey must be broken up," Daniel added. 

"Guys, I don't have all the details, but Dad left Joey's room in tears. So Dad must have made the move and Joey panicked. Joey tried to apologize, but Dad wasn't hearing it." She sighed. "Then he put the goods to Constable Fraser." 

"The Mountie?" Daniel asked, sounding very shocked. 

"It was discreet, but I could tell," Gayle answered. "Joey went running to Frannie, but she didn't jump in. Which tells me that Joey was the one who said no." 

"The Mountie?" RJ asked, still worrying the wrong bit of information. 

"As long as it wasn't Sophia Tortelli, it doesn't matter who he went to. The point is that Joey fell on his sword and Dad's fallen into someone else's bed," Gayle insisted. 

"The Mountie?" RJ repeated. "The guy with the dog?" 

"It gets worse, guys," Gayle interrupted. "Dad went all the way to Canada with Joey, Peri, a nice detective named Jack Huey, and a total hottie constable named Turnbull to save his new squeeze from some old, murderous Mountie and his snow ski-mounted minions." 

"Dad went to Canada?" Daniel asked. "Wearing what?" The wardrobe would tell all. 

"Brace yourself, guys," Gayle warned. "Dad bought off the rack and rushed away the same day. No manicure, no trip to the barber, and he missed a Bulls game." 

"Damn," RJ hissed. "He's serious about the Mountie." 

"Yes, he is," Gayle agreed. "This morning he told me that he'd invited the man to go to Florida with us, and he wants to talk to us about him." 

"Oh, man. Poor Joey," Daniel said sympathetically. "How is he holding up?" 

"He's watching," Gayle reported. "Now that Ben is coming back, he's become even more watchful." 

"This is going to be an interesting family gathering," RJ groaned. "Is Joey coming with us?" 

"As far as I know," Gayle replied. "I'm counting on the two of you to be there if something should give." 

"Like what?" Daniel asked. 

"I don't know," Gayle admitted as she flexed her fingers nervously. "That's what scaring me." 

"We'll be home in two days, kid," RJ said soothingly. "We'll look after things." 

"Right," Daniel agreed. 

As much as her brothers lived to tease her, both of them considered themselves her protectors. Whether she needed protecting or not. Gayle found it easier just to humor them. 

"Thanks, guys," she said gratefully. 

"You know, if we're cold enough to the man, Dad will send the Mountie packing, and Joey can try to make it back in," Daniel suggested. For such a sweet man, Danny could turn cold when the situation demanded it. 

"Dan, don't do that," Gayle insisted. "Until he gives us a reason to hate him, I want us to be friendly to Ben. He's just lost his father and been kicked out of his country for doing the right thing." 

"They kicked him out?" RJ asked incredulously. "The man is a hero." 

"They made it look like a promotion, but he's been given the boot. Ben has no family, no country, and only a wolf between him and total isolation," she explained. 

"Why don't you date him?" RJ asked. "You love lost puppies." 

"The man is ancient," Gayle replied in shock. "He's got to be at least forty." 

"Oh, one foot in the grave," RJ teased. He could be so infuriating some times. 

"You know what I mean," she huffed. "Look, Dad has bundled the man up, so we have to give him a chance." 

"We'll give him the full Vecchio welcome," Daniel promised. "If he's important to Dad; well that's all the man needs." 

"Exactly," RJ agreed, "but that doesn't mean we won't dance when Dad sends him packing and carries off Joey." 

Gayle groaned, but it was the best she could have hoped for. 

<<==============>>

Louis usually felt that he did nothing but put ADA Mary Wilson on edge, but today she seemed more than willing to listen to him. "So we'll need a warrant to pull those tapes before they get recycled," he explained. 

"They might have a twenty-four hour tape recycling schedule or even one that is a full week, but we just can't take that chance," Jack threw in. 

ADA Wilson, a striking woman given to unflatteringly severe suits that did nothing to highlight her brown skin and tightly pulled back hair that added five years, nodded. "How is the child doing?" she asked as her fingers flew over the keyboard. 

Louis would have bet money that any maternal instincts the woman had would have been arrested on the spot. But her eyes told a different tale. 

Nobody in law enforcement wanted to lose a kid, and that's what the shrink said they were heading toward--losing a kid on Louis Gardino's watch because he couldn't find this bastard. 

"He's being brave," Louis reported. "I don't think I'd be as brave. We left him with an artist." 

"Now we need to get to those tapes," Jack added. "If they exist." 

Louis was counting on them existing and he was also counting on absolutely no assistance from Dolly Park company. 

"Here's hoping they do," Wilson said encouragingly. "The clerk will have your warrant waiting for you in courtroom seven, Judge Hitako's chambers." 

"Thank you, Ms. Wilson," Jack said sincerely. He shook her hand; then Louis did the same. 

"Let's go," Louis said, holding the door for his partner. "The clock is ticking." 

Jack rushed ahead and managed to beat Louis to the driver's seat. Huey had made note of Gardino's increased aggressiveness at the wheel and since then had simply done all the driving. That was Jack's way, he did not like to confront his colleagues and friends unless they were in serious trouble. Louis wasn't to that point, but he was getting close. 

Hitako's clerk had the warrant waiting for them and handed it over with no conversation. It was as if the schoolmarmlike woman understood that Louis was barely holding it together. 

With no legal impediments to their progress, the Chicago public decided to hold them up by crashing their cars and rubbernecking. Even their lights and siren were no help until they'd passed the three-car pileup. 

"Damn it, people, there is nothing to see!" Louis shouted out of the window. 

Jack sighed. "Louis, anticipation is great for movies, food, and sex, but when it comes to violence, anticipation is bitter. It makes you angry and that anger is going to rise up and bite you and this case in the ass." He spared Louis a quick glance before turning back to the task of getting them to Park Hill and the Dolly Park. "I need you to calm down." 

"I got it covered. I got it," Louis insisted with a quick shrug of his shoulders. He could feel the tension knot settle between his shoulder blades. "I'm as cool as a cucumber." 

Jack didn't respond. That meant Louis was officially chastised. When Jack Huey didn't bother to argue with you, then you were at the point where he would start yelling. That was bad. 

"I'll try harder," Louis promised after the silence had stretched. 

"Thank you," Jack replied. The car entered the Dolly Park at 16th and Putnam. The security office was on the first floor. 

Park Hill may have been a different town, but it was still in Cook County, therefore the warrant they had was enforceable. Jack led the way as they trooped into the office. 

"May I help you, gentlemen?" the lady in the office inquired. She looked like your favorite English teacher who could quote all the romantic poems but who could never get a date. There was something faded about her; from her pale blonde hair to her washed out complexion and light eyes. 

Jack presented the warrant. "We have a warrant to obtain the last 24-hours of your surveillance tapes for this facility," he explained. 

The lady accepted the paper and read it quickly. Louis prepared himself for an argument. 

She looked up. "What's happened?" Her hand hovered over her phone. 

"A young man was brought here and raped," Jack explained. "We want to find the man responsible." 

The woman's mouth dropped open and her hand went away from the phone. "He brought him here?" 

"I'm afraid so," Jack responded. "We need the tapes to find this man." 

"Do you track who uses their cards by time?" Louis asked after he'd observed a member using their card to enter the facility. 

"Yes, we do," she answered, "but it's only recorded by membership number, not by name. You would have to get the membership information from headquarters." She looked down at the warrant. "This won't get the numbers from me or the names from them." She turned toward her computer and typed her way through several screens. The printer sprang to life and pushed out several sheets. 

She snatched the sheets out of the computer and leaned back and read them. Now Louis could see her nameplate sitting on the cadenza behind her. Mary Townsend. 

"Ms. Townsend?" Louis inquired when he'd decided they'd been forgotten. 

Townsend stopped reading and placed the sheets across the lip of the trashcan. She stood up. "I'll be right back with a copy of those tapes, gentlemen. Please help yourself to the coffee or a cola from the ice chest." She left the room. 

Louis snatched the sheets and folded them carefully. "That was decent of her." 

"Yes, it was," Jack agreed. 

Eight minutes after she'd left, Townsend returned with four DVDs. She walked with a limp Louis hadn't really noticed before and favored her right leg as she returned to her seat. Both Louis and Jack stood when she returned and her expression said she wasn't used to that kind of respect. "Each DVD represents six hours and you can see each level of the structure by switching layers on the DVD," she explained as she held out the DVDs. "Here you are, gentlemen, I hope it helps you catch this man." 

"We'll do our best," Jack promised as he accepted them. He offered Townsend his hand. "Thank you." 

Townsend shook both detectives' hands. "I only did what was required by the warrant," she reminded them. 

"Exactly," Jack agreed as he steered Louis out of the door. "Time to work the routine," his partner reminded Louis as the two of them got back into the car. 

Louis pulled out the printout and stared at the columns of membership numbers and times. Between six p.m. when Paul arrived at the Cyberpunk and two a.m., when the kid was found at the rest stop, approximately seventy cars entered the parking structure. He pulled out his cell phone. "Chinese or pizza?" Louis inquired. He and Jack would be eating at their desks today, they had a lot of work ahead of them. 

<<==============>>

Jack noted the way Louis had pushed his food around the little white takeout box, but little of it had been consumed. However, Louis was on his ninth cup of coffee. 

The DVD was running at 16 times normal speed while they watched for limos. They'd seen nine so far, recorded their license plates, and sent that info on to Elaine's computer along with the request to search for limos with license plates with the letter-number combination Paul had given them. 

Huey had noted his partner's tenseness the moment Jack had returned from Canada. When the molester case had landed on their desk to keep company with twenty-five other cases, the tension ticked up even higher. It was up to Jack to keep the lid on things when they finally crossed paths with their suspect. 

Jack was still working on a good opening line for the situation as they watched cars enter and leave the parking deck when JD Perkins, their forensic artist, whisked in. Perkins had two speeds--full stop and flat out. No other mode was possible. 

"Got some good ones," JD promised, as he again tried to gather the wispy ends of his flyaway black hair back into his ponytail. "Very intense." All of his picture descriptions were based on emotions, but his work was always visually striking. "If I were into men, I wouldn't trust him." Perkins placed three sketches of a man on their desk. 

"She looks like she escaped from one of those graphic novels," he announced as he placed three sketches of the woman underneath those of the man. As expected, her sketches were much more detailed. 

The sketches would have already been scanned into the computer and were now being digitally compared to photos from the criminal databases. JD liked the lead detectives to have the original drawings. He called it a 'tactile experience'. Whatever that was supposed to mean. 

"Back to the salt mines," Perkins declared as he rushed away, again going full speed. 

"It's Vecchio," Louis declared. 

Jack stared at the demented fool who had managed to substitute himself for his partner. "What?" Jack demanded. This man was white, slender, and starting to bald, but he was not Vecchio. 

"It's Ray Vecchio and we have got him cold," Louis declared gleefully. 

"Louis, this is not Ray Vecchio," Jack insisted as he tapped his finger down on the brown eyes. He then pointed out the much too small nose. Vecchio had a beak, but this man didn't. Then there was the goatee. 

Louis's face twisted into a mask. "Did you get so close in Canada that you would cover up for that monster?" he hissed. 

"Louis, stop right now," Jack replied through gritted teeth. 

"No!" Louis shouted as he shattered his coffee mug against their lieutenant's door. "He's corrupted you!" 

Lt. Welsh burst out of his office. His pen was broken and leaking ink like thin red blood into his hand. "What the hell is going on?" 

Louis snatched the center sketch off their desk and shook it at Welsh. "This is Vecchio and Jack is too blind to see it." 

Welsh took the paper as if it had a timer on it and the last ten seconds were being eaten away. His jaw began to work as if he had too much gum jammed into his mouth. "Our victim, is he a local kid?" their boss inquired in a soft voice. 

"Yeah, born and bred," Louis answered. 

"Louis, do you honestly think there is a local boy in this town who can't identify Michael Jordan, Sammy Sosa, or Ray Vecchio instantly?" Welsh inquired, sounding very reasonable. 

Louis shook his head no and his shoulders slumped. 

"Before you start accusing people, you need to get your facts straight, Gardino," Welsh warned. He indicated with his head that he wanted Jack to move closer. "Huey, take your partner home after he cleans up this mess. I don't need mistakes on this case." He leaned a little close. "If he can't pull it together, I have other detectives who can take over this case." 

"I understand, sir," Jack responded. 

Welsh strode back into his office and managed not to slam the door. 

Jack turned back to look at Louis. "Not a word," he warned. "Not a syllable. Just pick up the pieces." How appropriate those words sounded. Picking up the pieces of both the coffee cup and their friendship. 

After Louis had mopped up the coffee, Jack led him out to the parking lot and held the car door for him. Neither of them spoke during the ride from the station to Jack's apartment. Jack concentrated on his driving and tried to unclench his jaw, with limited success. 

By the time he'd parked the car in front of his building, Jack's face was throbbing. It took the entire trip from the parking lot to his door to unlock his jaw. 

Jack closed and locked the door; using the time to think about his first sentence. It was easier than he thought. "What did you mean when you announced to the entire department that I was corrupted? It better be good because Welsh is one baby step away from giving the molester case to someone else. I don't need you wigging out. The victims certainly don't need it." Jack waited but got no response. "Answer me, damn it." 

Louis looked diminished; as if he were shrinking down into the floor or falling into another dimension. "Vecchio. I heard you tell Sparks you slept with Vecchio." 

Jack looked around, waiting for the camera crew to leap out and do the 'you're on Candid Camera' bit. They didn't come, so Louis must have been serious. "I shared a sleeping bag with the man, and all we did was sleep. All of those wellfleshed bodies, and I ended up with Vecchio's narrow ass." Jack crossed his arms. "Though I have to admit the man was like a furnace for heat." 

"Heat?" Louis asked, his voice soft and unsure. 

Jack began to tap his foot. "Weren't you listening when I came back? Didn't you hear me talk about the one stove, the cold, the snow up to your armpits, and the madmen with guns?" 

"I was listening," Louis insisted, though his voice lacked conviction or, in fact, any emotion at all. 

"But did you hear?" Jack asked, refusing to let his partner off the ropes. 

"I guess not," Louis admitted. 

Jack tried to wrap his mind around one point and failed-- Louis thought he'd had sex with Vecchio. "What made you think that I'd decided to cross the road for Vecchio? Why not Valdone or Fraser?" 

Louis looked up, his eyes wet, and swallowed. "He's the worst-case scenario," Gardino replied cryptically. 

Jack almost went for a beer, as this was rapidly turning into a beer conversation where only the consumption of alcohol could possibly explain what was being said. "Worstcase scenario for whom?" he asked. 

"For me," Louis explained without explaining at all. He tapped his chest. "It hurt me. I thought I was losing you." 

Suddenly the light dawned or the train that was going to squish him simply got closer. Jack understood. "Ah, you thought I was going to quit the force, acquire a much better wardrobe, and spend my time getting manicures." He shook his head. "I'm sure being Vecchio's plaything has got to come with a lot of perks, but he's not my type." 

"Good," Louis grunted. He took two tentative steps toward Jack, watching his partner's face carefully, then Louis threw himself on Jack and hugged him with a grip that should have been preserved for much more dire circumstances. 

"Louis?" Jack inquired softly as he somewhat awkwardly held his partner. 

"I'm sorry," Louis whispered into Jack's chest. 

"Okay," Jack acquiesced, having no idea what was going on in the man's head. "Why don't you lie down in my bed for a while?" 

"Yes, Jack, take me to bed," Louis pleaded. 

"Careful, Louis, a man could take that statement the wrong way," Jack joked as he half carried the smaller man to the apartment's lone bedroom. He lowered Louis onto the bed and bent over to take off his partner's shoes. 

"No you couldn't," Louis promised. 

Jack stood up so fast that he could use the speed as an excuse for how lightheaded he felt. "What?" 

"You couldn't take it wrong, Jack." Louis rubbed his abs in a small circular pattern, causing his white shirt to un-tuck itself from his pants. His left hand joined his right, the man's shirt was opened, and his lightly-furred chest and belly revealed. 

Jack was not naive in the ways of the world, but he seriously doubted that the thought that he would find his male partner undressing and offering himself like a sandwich would have made into his head. 

"Louis?" Jack inquired softly as if he were talking to someone standing on a ledge. 

"I'd understand if you were tempted," Louis promised as he opened his pants. 

"By you?" Jack asked as he foolishly sat down on the bed beside his friend. 

"No, by Vecchio," Louis answered. "He's always flaunting himself. Always groomed to within an inch of his life." 

"Always straight," Jack added. 

"For you he'd change," Louis insisted as he sat up. His shirt slid down his arms and his pants gapped open to reveal his tight white underwear. 

"I doubt that," Jack replied, flattered by his friend's off the wall comment. 

"Jack, you're so handsome and sensual. You're too much temptation for a man like Vecchio." Louis dropped his chin. "For any man." 

"He managed to restrain himself," Jack reported. 

Louis gripped Jack's upper arms and pulled himself almost nose-to-nose with his partner. "This time, Jack, but the next time you cross paths he won't be able to hold himself back." 

"I'll tell him that I won't convert and that I never fuck on the first date," Jack promised. "That should cool his ardor." He tried to remove Louis's hands from his arms. 

"No, Jack," Louis whined. He threw his arms around Jack and hugged the larger man fiercely. "Don't leave me and don't send me away," he chanted. 

Jack was totally out of his element, and he suspected that Louis was out of his mind. "What do you want from me, Louis?" he asked, hoping for some clarification for their present situation. 

"Make me yours," Louis begged; his muscular body threatening to shake itself apart. "Make love to me." 

"No," Jack said firmly. It may have been the first time Louis had heard that since he'd begun to shave. He continued on quickly, though he could feel his friend's entire body stiffen up in preparation for some kind of physical blow. "If you can ask me that again when you're rested and we're both not strung out, then we'll talk. But for now, the answer is no." 

Louis began to weep, a dry choked sound that didn't belong to the man Jack knew. Huey held the smaller man until he'd cried himself out. "I'm losing it," Louis moaned. 

"I'll help you find it," Jack promised sincerely. He pushed Louis back onto the bed and helped the smaller man out of his shoes. The small hole in the left sock that left part of Louis's big toe exposed made Jack smile. 

Huey stood up and shrugged out of his jacket. "Louis, what put you onto this track about Vecchio? And don't bother to tell me it was overhearing that we'd shared a sleeping bag. You've been acting hinky for days." 

"I've heard you on the phone saying his name again and again," Louis confessed. His voice unnaturally soft for someone so normally outspoken. 

Jack wondered what the penalty was for beating your partner with his shoes. He counted to ten backwards, in French, before he spoke. "Vecchio's got an apartment building opening up for rental that's about three blocks from the precinct. He offers teachers and cops a two hundred dollar a month rent discount. That's a bigger place that is closer to where I work, for less rent than I'm paying here." Jack paused to let this news sink into his partner's thick skull. "I'm moving into one of his properties, I'm not angling to become his property." 

"Why didn't you tell me that?" Louis demanded, some of his old fire finally showing in his voice. "You've been so distracted and distant lately." 

'Because it was none of your business,' Jack wanted to say. Because times were hard and he needed to economize. Because most of his investments were worth considerably less than he'd paid for them. Because he was going to have to sell his car and get a place within easy walking distance to the precinct. Because the rent on his current apartment was going up again for the third year in a row. Because their health insurance rates had tripled over the last four years. Because his taxes kept creeping up to eat away his cost of living raise, leaving him further in the hole every time. Because his parents, both retired, expected him to help out when their fixed incomes failed to pay the bills or for those little luxuries like medicine. 

"Because I was taking care of my personal business, Louis, and normally you only wanted to talk about work or your latest sexual conquest," Jack finally answered. 

Louis closed his eyes as if he were in pain, and his breathing evened out. Jack thought the other man had fallen asleep. "I'm a bad friend, Jack." 

"Maybe you should work on that before you add another notch to your bed post," Jack suggested. If Louis had literally carried out that activity, his bed would have collapsed. 

Louis cringed. "I will," he promised. 

It was a start and more than Jack had been hoping for. He pulled the covers over Louis and left the room, taking his jacket with him. 

Extracting the drawings from his jacket's inner pocket, Jack sat down and studied the faces. Rich, white, and deadly was what Jack saw, but what did their potential victims see when the limo pulled up and the flag of easy money was waved. Jack was sure these two looked harmless to the young men they lured. That was the problem. 

Jack leaned back and mentally mapped out the pickup spots they knew about. If there was a pattern in them, he wasn't seeing it. He made a call. 

"Elaine, it's Jack Huey. I know it's probably too soon to ask, but have you had any hits on limos for the possible license plate I gave you?" he asked hopefully. 

"I'm sorry, Jack, but I haven't had a single hit for a limo on any registered license plate with a 42 and a B1," Elaine reported. "I also tried 42 with a BL or BI, but no joy there either. So either he got it wrong or our perp is riding with a phony plate." 

Jack had been convinced the kid had it when it came to the license plate, but no joy. They were going to have to play with what they had. "Still, send the 42 and B1 out to patrol and have them on the lookout for the phony plate." 

"Consider it done," Elaine promised. "How's Louis?" she asked with genuine concern. Louis flirted outrageously with their civilian aide, but he also never forgot her birthday or her hiring anniversary. Both occasions resulted in flowers and a nice lunch for Elaine. 

"Better. I think we'll be back in the office in an hour or two," Jack reported, even though he feared they'd lost the entire afternoon. 

"I could bring a copy of the DVD you were viewing to your place," she offered, giving Jack a face-saving out and keeping him from losing the whole afternoon. 

"I'd appreciate that, Elaine." Jack had been hoping that he could compare the names of the limo owners to the names they would eventually get from the Dolly Park headquarters to go with the membership numbers they didn't _officially_ have yet. But he was going to have to play with what he did have. 

"You're welcome," Elaine replied before hanging up. 

Jack retrieved a metro map of Chicago from the junk drawer in his kitchenette and spread it out onto the bar that served as both counter space and a table. He cut up one of the ads from his unread Sunday paper and placed the colorful squares on the pickup locations they knew. Though this was far more accurate than the map he'd formed in his mind, no new hint of a pattern emerged. 

"Let's go back to the office and finish those tapes, then we can talk to Paul's friend Tito," Louis said from behind Jack. 

Huey nearly leapt out of his skin. "Louis! Damn, man, you scared me." 

"I scared myself, too," Louis admitted, "but this man in the limo is frightening me more. Let's go." 

Jack slipped on his jacket. Louis wasn't back on his feet yet, his eyes told that story, but at least the man was no longer on his knees. 

The ride back to the station was quiet, especially for them. Normally Louis would be chattering on about something and Jack would throw in a timely observation. It was the way they worked as a team and Jack was worried that they would never get that back. 

"I think you'll have to get Derrick Wright to give us a hand," Louis announced, breaking the silence. "Half the kids have been taken from his territory. He's bound to take a harsh attitude toward that." 

Jack could only agree. But there might be a little problem. Derrick's assistant, Joanne Dillon, had once been the recipient of some of Louis's gold standard Italian loving. Gardino was apparently quite good in the sack and some people had a hard time letting that go. "Do you think you should stay in the car?" he asked. 

"Nah. This is business," Louis said confidently. "Besides, Joanne is getting married." 

"Really? I hadn't heard," Jack responded, relieved. 

"She's marrying a nice stable accountant," Louis explained. 

"Good for her," Jack said as he pulled into the parking deck at the precinct. 

The bullpen was almost empty, as it tended to be when it was close to shift change. Jack sat down at his desk, fired up his computer, put in his password, and cued the DVD back up to where they'd left it. 

Three more limos, all repeat license plates from earlier, entered the deck. "Those must be coming from a hotel or two," Jack noted. "Why else would they keep coming back?" 

"Park Hill has no street parking and all the hotels have contracts with parking decks to store their limousines and for their valet parking. In some hotels valet parking is all they have," Louis informed Jack. 

Jack nodded. Like magic, most of the deck emptied as the timer in the corner of the screen reached 6:00 p.m.. Just after seven a limo pulled into the deck. Jack paused the picture to get the license plate--C42 B1D on the front and D1B 24C on the rear. 

Louis wrote them down and hurried over to Elaine's desk. The civilian aide should have cleared out ten minutes earlier, but she'd waited around and gone over the workload with her evening shift replacement. 

Jack switched angles to move from one level of the garage to the next, following the limo as it made its way to the top. Solid footsteps behind him told Jack that their lieutenant hadn't left for the day either. 

"Is that our car?" Welsh inquired. 

"I'm sure of it," Jack responded. 

The limo came to a halt on the top level. The doors opened and Paul and a blonde woman got into the back seat. There was a brief glimpse of the man in the back and Jack stopped the picture and moved it back one frame at a time until the best frame for viewing their suspect was up. It was a profile shot, but it would have to do. 

The man was in his fifties, well kept, with a tanned complexion, brown thinning hair, and brown eyes. The most outstanding thing about him was the massive ring on his left hand. 

"That's what made that mark on Paul's back," Louis said as Jack printed out the closeup of the ring. He kept hitting the kid in between his shoulder blades while he was on him. 

"Sick twisted fuck," Welsh grunted. 

Jack could only agree. He made two other copies of the profile and gave one to their lieutenant. "We have this Mendoza kid to talk to, sir." Huey rose from his chair. 

Louis restarted the DVD in real time. The limo shook, but since there was no sound, they couldn't hear Paul calling out. That was good. Jack seriously doubted Louis or even he could take that right now. Or ever. 

"Jack, I have the plates," Elaine announced. "The C42 B1D was retired off a wrecked car and is still in the evidence locker, and the D1B 24C plate belongs on a school bus." 

"Who did the car belong to?" Louis asked. 

Elaine looked sad. "Ray and Irene Vecchio. It was prominently displayed on the front page of the newspaper." 

Jack, Louis, and the Lieutenant moved to stand behind Elaine. A newspaper with a date just over a year old was displayed on the screen. 

"Who killed Irene Vecchio?" the newspaper demanded over the startling color photo of the destroyed Rolls Royce and the bent and slightly burnt license plate. The paint on the plate had bubbled and the red paint looked like blood. 

"Gardino, I better not hear Vecchio's name in connection to this case except in regards to this license plate," Welsh warned. 

"You won't, L.T.," Louis promised. "I was way off base." 

Welsh pointed an accusing finger at the screen to the car where Irene Vecchio lost her life. "You weren't even in the ballpark, Gardino." 

"Let's go find Tito, Jack," Louis said professionally. "We're not getting any closer to this guy standing here." 

It was a step back onto the road for their partnership and the case. 

<<==============>>

'Don't feel bad if he can't meet you,' Benton told himself as he came down the tunnel that led to the airport lounge. 

As he emerged into the open space, he saw not only Ray Vecchio but his daughter Gayle as well. Gayle held up a sign that read 'WELCOME HOME, BENTON'. 

Walking ramrod straight, Ben made his way to the Vecchios. "What a nice thing to do," he said sincerely. 

"It gets even better," Gayle promised, her Ray-blessed eyes shining. "Dad has been slaving over the stove." 

Benton grinned. He couldn't help himself. "Is the entire clan gathering?" 

"We wouldn't do that to you on your first day back," Ray announced as he put his arm around Ben's waist possessively. "We'll give you the weekend, then you're fair game." 

"How was your flight, Ben?" Gayle asked as the three of them flowed with the crowd toward the luggage carousel. 

"Quite interesting," Ben replied. "My seatmate was a young man who has just released his first album. He's joining a tour as the opening act for a group called the Backstreet Boys. Chicago is his first American date." 

"What's his name?" Gayle asked. 

"Jordan McGuffin," Ben reported. He cast about and located the young man in question. Though he was only seventeen, the singer had been placed on the plane without escort. He waved and Jordan came toward them. 

Jordan was around 5' 8", slender, with coal black hair, and large brown eyes. He was cute and would probably be cute for decades. 

"Hello, Sergeant," Jordan called as he came to a halt. 

"Hello again, Jordan. This is Gayle Vecchio and her father, Ray," Ben introduced. "They were kind enough to meet me." Fraser looked around while the Vecchios shook the singer's hand. "Is no one meeting you?" 

"There's supposed to be a car and driver waiting outside to take me to the hotel," Jordan explained. "Everything has been rush-rush since I'm a last minute replacement for their former opening act." 

Ray made a fatherly growl. "They should have met you inside. This is a strange country, a new city, and one of the busiest airports in the world, which can only lead to confusion." 

"I know the name of my hotel and its address if we miss each other," Jordan assured Ray. "It's a great adventure!" The young man's enthusiasm made Ben smile. "Though I have to admit that this is kind of a letdown after my sendoff." 

It seemed that most of the young man's small town had come to the airport to see him off. Yet not one of them had ridden with the young man as he began this tour. Ben halflistened to Jordan's rundown of his sendoff as he made his way to the special transport section. 

Diefenbaker stared out accusingly from his crate. "Sorry, Diefenbaker, but the ticket agent wouldn't give you a seat." The wolf made a rumbling huff. "And I seriously doubt you could have worked the computer." 

Benton signed the papers that released his friend from the care of Air Canada and accepted custody of the wolf. Diefenbaker grumbled as Ben attached the leash, though they both knew how necessary it was. Especially in this crowded space. 

"Hello, Diefenbaker," Gayle said enthusiastically as she hugged and petted the animal. "Wait until you get to the house, I have a special treat for you." 

Diefenbaker immediately perked up at the mention of a treat, though he tried to pass it off as mere enjoyment of his petting. Ben was not fooled. 

Ray pulled Ben's luggage off the carousel. "Good lord, Benny, have you got your anvil in here?" 

"Back to the gym, Dad," Gayle teased. "Those arms are getting weak." 

"Do you hear my child?" Ray asked, vexed. 

"I'm just saying you might want to lift something heavier than an ink pen," Gayle suggested innocently. 

"Careful, Gayle, or you might find yourself spending Saturday night tending your decrepit old father instead of attending this concert you've been talking about for weeks," Ray warned. 

"Dad," Gayle groaned in a martyred tone. 

This exchange had Jordan grinning and whipping his head back and forth between the two Vecchios. 

Ben relieved Ray of the bags. "I may have over-packed, Ray," he admitted. He allowed Ray to lead the way while Gayle took charge of Diefenbaker. Ben seriously doubted the wolf would have let the teenager out of his sight once treats were promised. 

After an arduous journey where Ben feared their group would be permanently separated, they emerged in the pickup area, which was now well away from the terminal. Ben recognized Ray's car and driver right away, but he was looking for the car that was supposed to pick up Jordan. 

A sleek, modern limo pulled up and a beautiful blond driver emerged. She held out her hand toward Jordan. "Mr. McGuffin, I'm to take you to the hotel." 

Ben turned to look at Jordan, but as his eyes slid past Ray, he stopped cold. Ray's face had become hard as granite. Gayle had gone quiet and just looked shocked. 

"Mr. McGuffin is being escorted by private security and a RCMP officer," Ray announced. "Sergeant Fraser will be seeing Mr. McGuffin right to his door." 

Ben didn't know why, but he knew this woman had been tagged as dangerous by Ray and that in the city, Ray's instincts were simply finer than his. Fraser pulled out his badge and displayed it. 

"Oh," the driver said after examining the badge. 

"You can follow us," Ray announced. He waved at Roger and the Vecchio limo pulled up. Two of Ray's security men were in the front seat. They emerged and immediately took charge of the luggage. 

The woman driver slipped back into her limo and immediately pulled away from the sidewalk. 

Ray pulled out his cell phone and dialed. Ben could see that his hand was shaking. 

"What was that about?" Jordan asked. 

"Martin, this is Vecchio. I just saw Irene's license plate on a limo. The woman driver drove away after I stopped her from taking off with a kid from Canada." 

"I'm not a kid," Jordan protested. Both of the security men snickered. 

"She said she was here to pick the kid up and even knew his name and what he looked like, but I wasn't going to let her leave here with his luggage, let alone the boy," Ray continued. 

"I'm not a boy," Jordan repeated. 

Ray cocked an eyebrow at Jordan and made a motion of dabbing water from behind the singer's ear with a handkerchief. Jordan blushed. "Get your people on this, Martin. They've insulted me." 

Gayle motioned for Ben to lean down. "That's the license plate that was on my mom's car when she was killed. It's supposed to be a retired number." 

Ben understood. The license plate of a car that had been evidence in a double-homicide would not be put back on the street. Some very sick people would want it and there was no good in encouraging that kind of behavior. 

"Come on... man, " Ray began, motioning to Jordan. "We'll see you to your door." 

<<==============>>

Their interview with Tito Mendoza the previous evening had only given them another pickup spot and possible cruising area. He'd been very forthcoming but hadn't been as observant as Paul had been. But then Tito hadn't been hurt and his action had taken place in a local park not five blocks from where he'd been picked up. 

He had picked out the woman's drawing from a group of seven, but had only seen the man when he and the woman driver had kissed and was unable to pick him out of the group of seven profile shots. Tito was, however, able to give them three more names of young men who had taken a joyride in the limo. 

Louis glanced over at his partner, who was successfully navigating them through the traffic toward the home of Derrick "Maximus" Wright. Gardino had come very close to destroying three things he held most dear yesterday--his career, his partnership, and his friendship with Jack Huey. He could see where he had gone wrong--too little sleep, not enough food, and his rather dramatic tendency to brood--but only after it had all nearly exploded in his face. Where was his head? Oh yeah, firmly up his ass. When it came to Jack Huey, lovingly known in his mind as My Jack, Louis Gardino was a grade A nutjob. 

The threat of Ray "Lightfoot" Vecchio gathering up his Jack and taking him away was enough to raise the bile to just under his earlobes. Louis's well-earned reputation as a 'love them and leave them' type had come crashing down. Jack knew, but he had still shown up at the station and had already checked out their car for the day by the time Louis had arrived at work. 

So things were getting back on track, but Louis was no closer to sharing Jack's pillows than the day before. Of course after his spectacular performance the day before, that might not happen. Ever. Never ever. 

It was a heartbreaking thought. 

"Detectives Huey and Gardino to see Mister Wright," Jack announced into the squawk-box on the pillar beside Wright's gate. 

"This better be good, Louis," Joanne Dillon announced. The gate swung open and allowed them entry. 

Jack pulled the car forward and waited while the first gate closed and the second one, which allowed the car onto the circular drive, opened. Huey pulled them right up to the front steps and jumped out. 

Instead of having to wade their way through three or four layers of personnel, Derrick Wright met them in the foyer. 

Wright was a bald beauty with smooth chocolate skin, dark intense eyes, and a full sensuous mouth framed by an elegantly trimmed goatee. Muscular, tall, and smartly dressed at all times, Wright was very handsome, but that was sent up several notches by his intelligence, charm, and one of the best deep voices this side of James Earl Jones. 

"Gentlemen, since I know you're not here for breakfast or to sell me tickets to the Policeman's Ball, we'll get right to it," Derrick announced. "What can I do for you?" 

"We have a child molester, preying on teenaged boys in your neighborhoods. He rides in a limo with a busty blonde driver and offers them cash to let him watch the driver give the boys a blowjob," Jack explained. 

Derrick's thin right eyebrow crunched down in the beginnings of a scowl. "And?" he prompted, knowing that was not all. 

"He's raped the last six and abandoned the latest one at a rest stop far from help and bleeding so badly it was a miracle the boy didn't die," Jack continued. "The shrink says that the violence is escalating and we believe he'll either keep or kill the next one." 

Derrick's warm brown eyes hardened. "My office, now." He led the way, scattering staff as he went. 

Louis could imagine that not many people got inside the inner sanctum of Derrick's office. More striking than the Persian rug or the fine antique furniture was the gorgeous oil painting of Derrick's brother, Darius "The Preacher" Wright. It was a beautiful rendition of the man and signed by Irene Z, Ray Vecchio's wife. They were definitely in the right place for assistance. 

"There's a further complication," Louis announced once they were all seated. 

"Which is?" Derrick asked. 

"The limo is running with phony plates and the plate he chose to use on this particular spree is the one that was on Irene Vecchio's Rolls Royce," Louis answered. He didn't need to add the 'when she was killed' part, it was implied. 

Derrick's left fist clinched up and his jaw, which was already tight, tightened further. "Start from the beginning. I need as much detail as you have, any pictures, and any hint of a pattern. We will find this man," Derrick promised. 

<<==============>>

"Where is my singer?" Reynolds demanded in his ice-cold voice. He was sitting on the Louis XIV settee he acquired during a recent trip to England. The entire long, somewhat narrow room was filled with European antiques he'd picked up during various trips abroad. Joshua Reynolds liked his furniture old and his boys young. 

"The Canadians sent him here with a Mountie and a private security group," Lola responded. She knew it was a perfectly good excuse for not bringing the handsome young man back to the house for her boss to play with, but she also knew that he wouldn't accept it. "They left in their own limo." 

"I see," he responded, his black eyes going cold. Reynolds had decided that a carefully trimmed beard, which he kept dyed dark brown like his hair, would direct the eye away from his receding hairline. What he didn't understand was that few people could get past his eyes to see either his hairline or his beard. 

"Mr. Reynolds, I could have easily overpowered the boy, but not him, four grown men, and a teenaged girl who was only two fingers-width away from him," Lola explained. 

"While that is true, it is also true that I don't have that beautiful young man to play with," Reynolds stated. 

Lola gritted her teeth. "Boss, no one likes watching you play as much as I do, but we missed out on this one." She spread her hands. "There are other boys out there and most of them are eager for a buck." 

Reynolds rose to his feet and Lola knew he was about to throw a tantrum. Physically, she had nothing to worry about from him. Lola could handle him and three more just like him. What she worried about was that he would fire her. Oh, he always hired her back, but she did not relish the thought of missing his next cruise. 

Lola knew that this would be the time the twisted genius would kill, and she wanted to witness every brutal second of it. 

"I wanted him here," Reynolds declared. "I could almost taste him." He got almost nose-to-nose with her. "You failed." 

"I don't think so," Lola replied, "and I don't think anyone could have done better in the same circumstances. Or did you want me to bring them all here to kick your ass?" 

Reynolds swung at her. Lola ducked under his arm, caught it as she rose back up, and used Reynolds's momentum to slam him into the wall. The Venetian-style plaster was well applied and didn't crack after the violent contact. 

Lola was impressed that her well-honed battle instincts hadn't made her break her boss's arm. It was funny how desire could override what you'd been trained to do in certain circumstances. "You're overheated," she declared as she pulled Reynolds back from the wall and marched him into his bedroom. 

"What do you think you're doing?" Reynolds demanded as Lola paused at the large picture window that dominated the southern wall of the room. 

"Making sure that you reserve your energy for tonight," Lola answered as she removed the tiebacks with one hand while still firmly holding Reynolds with the other. "You'll thank me when you're able to go all night with your date." 

Lola tossed the man onto the bed, split his legs, and tied his ankles securely to the footrail. "I'll secure your date like this tonight if you decide to bring him home." 

"I'll get you for this," Reynolds swore. 

Lola laughed. "No, you won't." Reynolds may have been six inches taller than Lola's 5'5" height, but he only weighed in at 160 pounds, which gave him a mere 30 pound advantage. None of which was muscle. Reynolds had neither the weight nor the skills to take anything but what she gave him. Somehow he hadn't realized that. 

It was time she made him understand the lay of the land. Without her acting as bait only gay boys would get into the car and that was not what Reynolds wanted. Without her, most of the healthy young men they took would easily be able to fight the man off, maybe even turn the tables and rape him. Without her there, Reynolds would still be aching for his first taste of straight-boy pussy. 

Lola grabbed two more tiebacks and returned to the bed. "Fun and games, Big Boss Man," she declared before, after a brief struggle, securing his hands to the headboard of the bed. The queen-sized bed was the perfect platform for stretching the worrisome man out. 

Reynolds's escalating ego was partly her fault. By bringing his darkest fantasies to the light and making them come true, Lola had fed the man's superiority complex to the bursting point. 

Reynolds had hired Lola as a driver/bodyguard, taking her from a very dull existence as a chauffeur for hire. Almost from the beginning, they would go on nightly cruises of the streets of Chicago, supposedly to view his rental property, but Lola soon realized it was to cruise young men. Boys, actually. Once they were old enough to drive, they were no longer of interest to Reynolds. 

She was bored the night she broke the silence that normally ruled the limo. "He's so pretty, even I want to give him a blowjob," she'd announced as they passed a handsome young stud in the making. 

"You could, but only if you get him to agree to let me watch," Reynolds responded. And thus it had begun. 

Reynolds had two fake plates made for the limo to replace his personalized ones when they went on a hunt for very young cocks. 

Her kink for violence was fed by his kink and need for young boys. His kink had escalated to a point where he'd wanted her to grab a Canadian singer before he came under the protective wings of his record company's handlers. 

It was a sweet operation. Reynolds had found out the young man's flight number by posing as a member of the press and Lola had shot two of the tires on the hotel's stretch limo with Slo-Leaks, which left the vehicle sitting on the expressway with two flat tires. 

She was to drive Jordan McGuffin back to the house and tell him that security concerns had forced them to relocate him from the hotel to a private home. McGuffin would probably have never gotten out of the house alive. That would have been fine with her. McGuffin's happy little songs were irritating. Lola liked Gangsta Rap, the harder the better. 

Reynolds tried to turn over, bringing her attention back to him. Lola's bonds held him tight. "Bitch, let me go!" 

Lola had a lot of patience for this man, but even she had her limits when it came to Joshua Reynolds. She slapped him again and again until she was satisfied that the great man understood his position. 

Once his face was nicely red and the tears were flowing freely, Lola stopped. Reynolds said nothing, but his eyes spoke volumes. Lola still needed to explain things to the man. 

Lola reached under Reynolds and opened his belt and pants. She pulled his pants and boxers down to his knees, revealing his ass. His partially spread legs kept her from pulling them down to his ankles. That wouldn't have been a problem with the singer as Lola had planned to cut his clothes off. 

She could have whipped Reynolds's milky-white asscheeks with his own belt, but that might have interfered with the evening's activities. Instead, she stepped into the study, which was just off his bedroom, and retrieved some ice cubes from the bar and placed them in the silver ice bucket. 

Lola paused in the doorway to admire the way Reynolds tried to get the tiebacks into his teeth in order to free himself. It was a wasted effort, but you had to give the man credit for trying. 

"No!" Reynolds shouted when the first ice cube was placed on the top of his high asscheeks. He twisted until it fell off. 

Lola had been expecting this; counting on it in fact. She slapped Reynolds's defiant ass twice and replaced the cube. Three times more he dislodged it and three times more she beat his ass and replaced it. He finally got the point and allowed the cube to stay until it and four more of its kin had melted, sending ice-cold rivulets of water over his cheeks and across the tight pucker of his virgin asshole. 

She dried the man off but left him tied to the bed. "You can rest until dinner," Lola announced, "then I'll release you, we'll eat, and then hit the streets." 

Lola closed the curtains and left her boss in the darkened room. She hoped that her lesson didn't leave Reynolds so stirred up that he killed his date in the car. She wanted to play with the young man before he met his end. 

<<==============>>

When Jack ran various disaster scenarios about the molester through his head, this one had not even come up, and Huey had a very active imagination. 

Just as they were about to leave Derrick Wright's office, Jack received a call on his cell phone from Lt. Welsh. Their limo molester had struck again. This time in broad daylight at the airport and the only reason they weren't looking at a kidnapping or worse was because Ray Vecchio had spotted his old license plate on the limo and refused to allow the almost-victim to get into the vehicle. 

Jack and Huey entered the Renaissance Chicago Hotel with Derrick Wright and two of his men close behind them. Huey had tried politely to leave them behind, but he might as well have been Fraser's half-wolf. 

They were let into the suite to find Vecchio stalking up and down the living room like a caged tiger. Fraser, Vecchio's youngest, Gayle, and a young man were occupying the couch, while two executive types sat at the dining table and two silent security types guarded the door. The wolf was pacing up and down with Vecchio. Perhaps the animal thought that anyone pacing like that was bound to make a kill sooner or later and maybe Vecchio would be in the mood to share. 

"Jack, Louis, it's good to see you," Fraser said as he rose from the couch. Both detectives shook the Mountie's hand. "I believe you know Gayle Vecchio, but you haven't met our Canadian treasure, Jordan McGuffin." 

"Hi," the young man said jovially. At least someone was relaxed in the room. He must not have had a clue what was going on. 

"It's nice to meet you both," Jack replied, "I just wish it were under better circumstances." He stepped aside so that Derrick and his men could be seen. "Everyone, this is Derrick Wright and uh..." Huey hadn't gotten the other two men's names. 

"Roy and William," Benton finished. "It's good to see you two again." 

Wright's men smiled, but said nothing. 

Trust Fraser to know someone's name. Huey looked toward Vecchio. The smaller man was clenching his fists as if he were preparing to punch something. "Mister Vecchio--" 

"Did you know someone was running around the streets with Irene's license plate?" Vecchio demanded. His green eyes seemed capable of eating a hole straight through Jack's forehead. 

"We found out yesterday afternoon, Mister Vecchio," Louis responded, surprising Jack. Huey didn't believe his partner would speak to Vecchio after his outburst the other day. That and other things Jack wasn't going to think about right now. 

"And you didn't think to tell me," Ray accused. 

"Mister Vecchio, the people in the limo using those plates have been involved in the rape of several young men and, therefore, it is part of an ongoing investigation," Louis explained. "Besides, with it being so close to the anniversary of the tragedy, only a heartless fiend would tell you the news without someone in custody." 

Jack was impressed. That sounded just like something he would have said. "Exactly, Mister Vecchio. Now they've escalated by attempting a snatch in the daylight. It totally breaks their pattern." 

"They disabled our limo," one of the suits announced, speaking for the first time. 

"Wilkins and Booth from the promoter's office," Vecchio explained with a nod of his head toward the seated executives. "They seem to be interchangeable." 

Jack twisted his mouth to keep from snickering and almost failed. The smile came off his face when he realized that the white cast to McGuffin's face wasn't natural. 

"Rapes?" the teenager croaked. Gayle immediately comforted the young man. 

"Several rapes, I'm afraid," Louis reported. "You were lucky." 

"A woman involved in rapes?" Gayle asked, shocked. Jack felt bad discussing this kind of thing in front of a young lady, but the kids today seemed much more up on these kinds of things. Which was a crying shame. 

"She entices the boys into the limo with... promises," Jack explained. 

"We want to put the word out on the street so we can cut down on the number of their potential victims," Derrick explained. "I've already got my people out spreading the pictures and sharing the 4-1-1." 

"Let me see," Vecchio ordered, holding out his hand. 

Louis stepped forward as if he were protecting Jack from the mere proximity of Vecchio and handed the older man the artist sketches. 

"That's her alright. About 5'5", 130 to 135 pounds, big tits, small waist--" 

"Her walk pointed to extensive military training. She's used to marching. Her hair is naturally blond, her nails are short and serviceable, she had a large knife in the thigh pocket of her uniform pants, she wore no perfume, and she smokes," Fraser finished. 

Everyone looked at the Mountie. 

"The wind was behind her," Benton explained. "The knife was of street-legal size." 

Vecchio shook his head. "I'm surprised you can do all of that smelling with such a small nose, Benny." He looked at the drawing of the man. He seemed to be memorizing it. "I don't know him." 

"The shrinks say he's a loner," Jack explained. 

"A loner who works with a partner is not a loner, Jack," Vecchio corrected. He passed the drawings to Benton. "What we have here is a symbiotic relationship. A sick and twisted partnership that is held together by avarice, not love nor money. Such partnerships are fragile in nature, but I'm not willing to wait until one of them decides to feed on the other." 

Jack's estimation of the intelligence of the man went up about four notches. Vecchio didn't get where he was by a carefully timed marriage, as much as some people would have loved to believe that. 

Vecchio motioned to his men. "Frank and Mario, you stick to Jordan like sweat. Benton and I are heading home with Gayle. We'll call in Joey, Antonio, Marcus, and Berkeley." He turned to Wright. "Derrick, would you ride with me?" 

Derrick nodded, then smiled. "Vecchio and Wright, Second Edition?" 

Vecchio nodded. "The Preacher is looking out for us on this one, Derrick, and he'll kick our asses if we let this bastard slip through." 

<<==============>>

Renfield Turnbull had been quite surprised to receive a phone call from Joey Valdone to join him on a hunt for a serial rapist team. The man had been quite kind since their return from Canada and had taken Renfield out to dinner, movies, and a wonderful jazz concert. He was very certain that Joey wanted to have sex with him, but the other man had not made a move yet. 

Turnbull had never been on an urban crawl for a criminal before. Every time he'd given chase to a criminal he'd been in uniform. So he didn't have any hard and fast rules on attire. He'd decided on well-worn jeans for comfort and running ability, his best boots for the same reason, a thick cotton shirt to ward off the chill, and his brown leather jacket because it suited him. 

He was only allowed to carry a gun at the consulate, but he'd brought two of his knives that just squeaked by as street-legal in the States. Rennie had no intention of being a liability to Joey. 

Valdone pulled up to the sidewalk and seemed surprised to see Rennie standing under the awning. "I would have come up," he insisted as he opened the door to the oversized and surprisingly elegant Humvee. 

"I didn't want you to waste the time," Turnbull explained as he secured his seatbelt. "I'm warmly dressed and you have always been prompt when coming to fetch me." 

"Fetch," Joey teased. "I think the words you're looking for are snatch and run, but I appreciate your confidence." 

"I like to base my judgments of people on their actions," Rennie explained. 

Joey smiled. "Thanks." He opened the glove compartment and pulled out a single sheet of paper from a slender box. "This is our quarry. Those are the police sketches and most of what we know about them. We have a bank of phones set up with a single call-in number. It's the same thing they do at the local PBS station when it's on its knees for money, but this time we're using it for tips." 

Turnbull studied the information and committed it all to memory. 

"Rennie, thanks for coming with me," Joey said as he pulled his SUV away from the curb in front of Turnbull's apartment building. 

"I'm honored you wished my assistance in tracking these monsters," Rennie replied. 

"Monsters." Joey tapped the steering wheel with his right forefinger while he waited for the light to turn green. "Do you remember when you thought that monsters roaming the streets was a scene from a movie?" he asked. 

"Distinctly," Rennie answered. "I miss those times." 

Joey smiled. "They weren't that long ago, were they?" 

Rennie knew that the subject of his age was bound to come up sooner or later. "I'm 24." 

Joey snorted. "Ray's oldest, RJ, is 22 and I changed his diapers." 

"But you never changed mine," Rennie answered. He had another clever line or two, but he stopped talking to note the license plate on the limo that barely missed running the red light. Not the right one. "I'm surprised to see a limo so close to my modest neighborhood." 

"Don't be. The United Center is very close to here and you'll see a lot of limos on game day or when there is a concert," Joey explained. 

"There's a concert?" he asked, knowing the Bulls were out of town. His job often required him to gain tickets to the local pro teams for visiting dignitaries and sometimes other entertainments, but only if they had a Canadian connection. Therefore, he needed to know when those sports teams were playing at home. The next concert he had tickets for was the Backstreet Boys, but only because a Canadian, Jordan McGuffin, was making his American debut. 

"Ricky Martin is packing them in even as we speak," Joey answered as he turned to follow a limo so they could spot the plate. "Remember, the rear plate is in reverse of the front plate." 

"Right," Rennie agreed as he craned his neck to read the plate of a long blue limo. He knew they were looking for a black limo, but in the waning light, a blue limo would look black. 

Joey pulled the SUV to the curb and rolled down his window. Four exceptionally tall prostitutes quickly approached the vehicle. "Ladies, Don Vecchio and Maximus both want a limo. Spot it and get us to it, and there is a cool thou for your hope chests." He passed over a flyer with the police drawings, a picture of a limo, and the phone number to call. 

"Please don't take any chances, ladies," Turnbull interjected. "These people are very dangerous." 

"Get him," the suspiciously red-haired prostitute said in a voice much deeper than Rennie's own. "You must be an import, Honey." 

"I know Canadian Bacon when I see it," the blonde one, whose voice was higher than Rennie's but still obviously a man's, added. "We have the best exchange rate in town, Sugar Lumps." 

"Sorry, Ladies, he's taken," Joey said firmly as he raised the window. He rolled back onto the street. 

"Those were men," Rennie stated in case Joey hadn't noticed. 

Joey snickered. "Yeah and they do good business around here. I've never understood the kink myself. I like my women fem and my men butch." He looked Rennie up and down. "Like you." 

"Thank you... I think." Rennie was still a bit shocked at seeing the transvestite prostitutes. He was sure they had such people in Canada, he'd just never seen them. Renfield Turnbull was not a blushing virgin, but there were still a lot of things he'd never experienced before. 

"Are you okay?" Joey asked softly. 

"Yes, I was just reminded that I'm not as sophisticated as I would like to think." Rennie knew he was quite red. 

"That only means there is more of you to soil." Joey laughed like Snidely Whiplash. 

"Are you having visions of tying me to things?" Rennie inquired, very curious. He'd always thought that Snidely Whiplash was all about the kink. He couldn't have gotten money for tying people to the tracks and the extremely hapless Dudley Do-Right was no challenge for a master villain. 

"No," Joey answered softly, "I'm still stuck on the thought of kissing you." 

"That's sweet, Joey, but we're on duty," Rennie said firmly. Kissing would lead to touching and that would allow their quarry to escape their net. A Mountie had to be able to forego his personal pleasure in order to protect the public. 

"Even when you don't have on the uniform, you're still wearing it. Aren't you?" Joey inquired, though it was obvious to Rennie that it wasn't really a question. 

"I could have done quite a few things, Joey, but I chose to be a Mountie. My family doesn't understand it, but they've been supportive... In their own way." Renfield Johnstone Halberth Turnbull, III should have been home in Toronto working on presenting a legitimate Renfield the fourth to continue in the family's many ventures instead of wearing a uniform. The family hoped he would grow bored with his profession and return home before he was injured. 

"I know how you feel, Ren," Joey said sympathetically. "One set of my grandparents wanted me to work in their bakery, the other wanted me to become a priest, and my parents planned for me to become a doctor. It led to a lot of confusion in my early years." 

Rennie grinned. "I bless you with this sound and healthy loaf of bread?" 

"Something like that," Joey answered. "Not that I had a talent for any of that stuff to begin with. I'm doing what I wanted to do and you're following your dream too. As a very wise woman said, only one to a grave." 

Turnbull loved quotes, but that one had escaped him. "Who said that?" 

"Francesca Vecchio, a woman I admire," Joey answered. "Her parents wanted her to marry a doctor. A catholic doctor, to be precise. Her older sister married a dentist and is a stay at home mom, but Francesca has been running her own business since her first lemonade stand when she was twelve." 

"Good for her," Rennie said appreciatively. "My family is in business, but I've never had the heart for it." 

"The business world is very cutthroat. If your heart isn't in it, you don't need to be there," Joey said firmly. 

They were silent as Joey moved them out into the left lane so they could pass a line of limos making their way toward the Union Center. Still no luck on their license plate. 

"I'm convinced he'll try this area with Martin in town," Joey explained. "There'll be tons of kids hanging around here trying to score tickets." 

"And someone flashing cash or even tickets could--" Rennie began. 

"Score faster than Sammy Sosa at slow-pitch baseball," Joey finished. 

They crept past the Union Center with both men straining to see every limo they could. Joey made two left turns and drove down a parallel street. There were several limos but not the one they were seeking. 

"Joey, how did you get the nickname 'The Bone'?" Rennie asked as they traveled the blocks in front of the arena again. 

Valdone laughed softly. "Do you want the official story or the truth?" 

"Both," Rennie answered since he'd heard neither. 

"The official story is that as kids we lived packed in tightly with various relatives living within shouting distance, so many of us had the same last name and the same first name. Therefore, it was a common practice to come up with rhyming nicknames. Valdone became The Bone," Joey explained. 

"And the true story?" Rennie prompted. 

"I was so tall and skinny as a kid that they called me Bony and when I started to fill out, it became The Bone. Sorry it's not too sexy," Joey finished. 

"The name may not be and neither is the story," Rennie admitted, "but the man certainly is." 

Joey looked away from the road and gave Rennie a warm smile. "Thanks... Sugar Lumps." He chuckled. 

. . . . 

Ray stepped out of his car and approached a basketball court of hard young men swaddled in sweats and dreaming of the NBA as they worked the ball. "Gentlemen, a word," he called. 

Vecchio waited. There was the inevitable "are you somebody's daddy" look, which was immediately followed by the "damn, it's Don Vecchio" recognition. Ray would have liked a less recognizable mug, but the reality of the situation dictated otherwise. When he was referred to as Don Vecchio in the media, he immediately made sure that he was recorded more prominently as Ray Vecchio, businessman. 

The bravest young brother stepped up. "Yo, what up, Dawg?" 

Vecchio could feel the flinch coming from Benny without having to turn to see it. That kind of greeting would have probably led to raised voices in Canada and perhaps a thrown hatchet or two. 

"I need your help, gentlemen," Vecchio announced. 

"You need _our_ help?" the young man inquired. Vecchio guessed the guy was about Gayle's age and around thirty pounds below the weight his height seemed to necessitate. 

Ray flipped one of their flyers toward the basketball player. "A man and a woman are cruising in a limo and offering cash to young men to let the woman blow them." 

"Damn, she could have done me for free," the young man swore. The rest of the players gathered around and looked at the sheet. 

"The man raped the last six they picked up and left the final one to bleed to death at a rest stop twenty miles away from any town." Vecchio watched all of the bravado evaporate from the kids, and there was no doubt that they were kids now. None of them were too old to be his. 

"They tried their first daylight snatch earlier today and came up empty. He's hungry, he's driven, and, gentlemen, he's got piss little to lose." Vecchio passed out more of the flyers. Each young man eagerly accepted one without a mention of a reward. "Stay out of his way and call that number if you see him. Watch out for the little brothers who think they're tough enough to deal with this themselves." Vecchio offered his hand to each of the young men and they accepted. "Thank you." 

Vecchio walked back to his car and waited for Benny to climb back inside. "Dawg is just a form of address, Benny. It's not an insult." He glanced at his man. 

"I figured that out," Benny assured him. 

They crossed to the parallel street and picked up Derrick. Wright had more cache in this neighborhood than Vecchio and he went solo into the Soul Food restaurant, where the locals congregated, to hand out flyers and spread the word. 

"I thought I was going to lose the two of you to a pick-up game," Derrick teased. He slipped Diefenbaker something. The wolf scarfed it down too quickly for Benny to protest. 

"I could have shown them some old-school moves," Ray assured Derrick, "but we're on a mission." 

"Yeah, you could have shown them those old moves," Derrick agreed. "For about two minutes." 

Benny had the nerve to laugh. 

"I get no respect," Ray complained. You'd think a man's lover would throw in a word or two of protest over Derrick's suggestion Ray couldn't hang with eight kids. 

"Of course you do, Ray," Derrick corrected. "You're just doomed to realistic respect." 

Ray grunted and kept driving. Derrick checked in with the phone bank, but his lack of enthusiastic response told Ray they hadn't had any hits yet. He pulled the Riv to a stop across the street from one of the best fish and rib joints in town. 

They had some of the freshest catfish in town here. How fresh? The catfish were still swimming just before you took them home. The squeamish placed their orders at the front register, but the diehards went to the back, staying behind the plastic shield, where you could watch them capture your dinner out of a large tub, pummel it over the head, and skin and fillet it. Nothing tasted better. 

"Good to see you, Mister Wright and Mister Vecchio," Old John called from the side counter. Old John was called Old John and looked it when Ray was still in short pants. There was no telling how old the man really was. 

Old John held court over the extras. Now that you had your fresh fish, you could get Old John to cook it for you. Since he was going to go to all of that trouble, he might as well toss in cornbread, greens, shredded pork or beef, beef spareribs, barbequed chicken, potato salad, coleslaw, one or two of the pies, and some hushpuppies. The place made a fortune and even though the old neighborhood had seen better days, the owners refused to move the shop. It wasn't unusual to see people lined up out the door and down the sidewalk in all temperatures. 

There hadn't been a robbery in the place in over twenty years and both Ray and Derrick would have taken it personally if someone were to break that streak of good luck. 

"Mister John, it's good to see you," Derrick announced as the old man came from behind his counter, a major show of respect, to hug Wright. The two men embraced. 

"You're looking fine, Derrick. Just like your father," John declared. People said that all the time. Mostly because it was so true. Old John turned toward Ray and surprised Vecchio by giving him a hug. Ray normally only rated a friendly handshake. "It's nice to see you, Mister Ray. I heard what you're doing and you've made me real proud." 

The grapevine must have been thick in the area. 

"How could I look at myself in the mirror if I didn't see to this personally?" Ray asked. God knows that was the honest truth. His anger went well beyond this bastard using Irene's plate. These boys, no matter what color their skin or their religion, could have been his. Targeting them would not be tolerated. 

Old John nodded. He moved back behind the counter and began furiously making big thick beef sandwiches. Just looking at them was making Ray drool. Derrick and Benny were spared the sight, but not the aroma, as they handed out the flyers. 

"You boys take this with you to tide you over until you can get a decent meal," Old John insisted as he bagged up the food. He added some apples to the sack and three Cokes. 

"Thank you, Mister John," Ray said sincerely. He made no move to pay the man as it would have been an insult. Old John was not up to riding the streets looking for these people, but he'd made the contribution he could. 

Old John smiled. "You're welcome, young man." 

Ray followed Derrick and Benny to the sidewalk where more flyers were pushed into hands before they returned to the car. 

"I was just called young man," Ray informed his friends as they were merging into traffic. 

"Yeah, by a guy who could have fought in the SpanishAmerican War," Derrick quipped. "Give it up, Ray. You're no longer a spring chicken but nowhere near the pasture." He peered in the sack and made lip-smacking noises. "What are you two going to eat?" 

Diefenbaker whined. 

Derrick looked at the wolf. "You already ate," he reminded his furry seatmate. 

"He's already forgotten it," Ray explained. "His stomach only has short-term memory." 

<<==============>>

Josh worked his arms until the feeling had completely returned to them. He said nothing to his employee, because he didn't want to give himself away. Lola had nearly reached the end of her usefulness. Josh already had a plan in place to rid himself of the woman; he was just going to have to implement it much sooner than he'd anticipated. There could be no loose ends, and Lola King was one thready little bitch. 

It was a shame he hadn't planned for her end to be as messy and painful as he now wanted it to be, but changing his plans now might alert her, and Lola had proven she was a lot more dangerous than Josh had anticipated. 

He ate dinner in silence, not trusting himself to keep the rage he felt in check. If he'd felt he had any skill, Josh would have driven his steak knife in the witch's heart. 

"I'm ready to go," Lola announced impatiently as Josh lingered over his coffee. 

Josh couldn't bite his tongue fast enough. "The reason I never married was that I never wanted to listen to a woman telling me when to go, come, stay, or leave." 

Lola snorted, a most unbecoming sound. "I'm sure that's not the only reason." Her smug grin was demanding a steak knife be driven straight through her eye. "Unless you could find one boyish looking enough for you to get it up over." She laughed. "Maybe you could have married one of those tiny Asian dolls." 

Josh shot out of his chair and for a brief second Lola allowed a bit of fear to show on her face. "Not another word or I shall simply retire for the night." It wasn't a threat; it was a promise, and they both knew it. Things had reached a point where Lola desired the hunt as much as he. Josh was convinced he could make it through the night without going out, but could she? 

That tasty show of fear returned and stayed. 'She's more afraid of the game ending than anything else.' That was telling. Josh had thought he was the biggest predator in the car; he was wrong. Lola was perhaps even more twisted. 

Josh could always find a new bit of bait, but where would Lola find someone like him to feed her habit? 

"Are you sure you want to skip tonight after missing this afternoon?" Lola asked hopefully. 

"Don't you mean after you missed this afternoon?" Josh asked, relishing the opportunity to point out her failure yet again. 

"But I could make it up to you by scouting out some extra fine young man to take his place," Lola promised. "McGuffin was too old for you anyway. He's almost eighteen." 

That was a flaw, but Josh had been more than willing to overlook those extra years because of the kid's angelic voice. It reminded him of the crystal purity of Roy Orbison's vocals. 

Josh looked Lola in the eyes and delighted in the desperation he found there. Lola could see him slipping away and finally realized that she had gone too far that afternoon. 

"You won't be sorry," Lola cajoled. 

"That's impossible, since I'm already sorry," he insisted. Josh kept the smile from his face. "If you really want to do something to prove to me I won't be sorry if I go with you--" He opened his pants without finishing the sentence. 

Lola went down on her knees and took his soft penis into her mouth. Just seeing her down there after his earlier pain and humiliation was enough to get him hard. Josh kept his cool and his hands to his side. He let her work for it. The more she put into it, the more desperate her expression, the better it became. 

He came, but it was more of a punctuation than a release. Josh settled himself back into his pants, gathered his coat, and walked to the car. He stood quietly and waited for her to open the door for him. 

Lola approached with her normal purposeful stride. Her uniform was immaculate, her hat perfectly placed, and her expression warm and friendly. "It looks like a nice night, Mister Reynolds." She held the door for him. 

Josh settled into the backseat. Things were back on track. 

<<==============>>

Ray had no idea there were so many limos in town. He couldn't guess how many they'd seen, but he was reasonably sure that Benny had a good count. "Benny, do you think Dief would like a quick break?" he asked. Diefenbaker was obviously very well behaved, but even the most gentle and considerate animal could not deny the call of nature. 

"That would be a good idea," Benny replied. "He hasn't said anything, but I believe he's only holding it in because he wants to help." 

Ray had decided to treat Dief like a person who didn't speak English but who could gesture quite well. The way the wolf was looking at the trees when they slowed down told Ray Diefenbaker had to go. He pulled to the side and let the wolf out of the car. Derrick and Benny also got out to stretch their legs. 

"Ray, I have to take back what I said about your ride," Derrick admitted. "It's very comfortable." 

"Thank you," Ray said graciously. He could have rubbed it in but not with Benny standing around and being Canadian. It would take all of the fun out of it to watch that little pinched look of disapproval on Fraser's face. 

Diefenbaker wet down a shrub and was trotting back when a saucy German Shepherd bitch caught his eye. Suddenly the wolf was all perky ears, swishing tail, and flaring nostrils. 

Benny busted up the party. "Diefenbaker, we're on duty." 

The wolf sized Benny up for a convenient hole, which he would personally dig and then piss in. 

Ray could see this leading to lots of barking and recriminations. None of which was getting them back into the car. "Dief, she's too young. It's all fun and games at her age. As soon as you got to the serious part, she would turn and bite." Ray petted the wolf's head. "Besides, why would you want to toss aside your carefree bachelor days when you just got back into town?" 

"Ray, that's hardly the point," Benny chastised. 

"Let's roll," Derrick called from his position beside the car. He waved his cell phone. "We've got a confirmed sighting." 

The pretty bitch was forgotten as Dief shot across the lawn area and leapt through the held back door like a champion hurdler. Ray and Benny arrived at the car together. 

. . . . 

Jack slammed the car into reverse, turned sharply right, and headed toward their sighting. "If this is him, we're going to owe Vecchio and Wright," he announced to his partner. 

Normally you couldn't shut Louis up, but his partner had been quiet as they'd cruised the streets. Only the occasional update from the phone bank had breached the silence. It gave Jack time to think about his situation with his partner. 

Jack had never had sex with a man or even kissed one who wasn't a relative and old. Though he'd had his fantasies during his youth when anything that promised to be hot and tight had appeal, they'd never truly crossed the threshold into adulthood. His sexual partners, fantasy and reality, were always female. 

So why didn't he come right out and tell Louis that yesterday? Because his partner had been close to losing it and Jack was afraid the man would break. But once this case was closed, for better or worse, Jack and Louis were going to have to talk about their situation. 

Economically, dating Louis had to be cheaper than dating women, who rightly expected Jack to pay for everything, but economics was never a basis for deciding who you would be with unless you were a prostitute. 

He loved Louis but as a partner. Besides, Gardino's attention span rarely lasted past his orgasm. He was, to put it diplomatically, free with his affections. Okay, Louis was a slut, who was bound and determined to maintain his Italian Stallion reputation at all costs. 

As they sat at the red light, the limo they'd been searching for rolled past, followed discreetly by Valdone's black Humvee. Joey was in the passenger's seat, chatting on his cell phone. 

"Who's that driving Valdone's tank?" Louis asked, breaking his silence. 

"Turnbull, he's the constable we went to Canada with," Jack answered as he made his right turn to follow the limo. 

Their cell phone rang and Louis answered it. "Gardino. Yeah, we're right behind you. Yeah, take a left and we'll pull up into your position." He closed the phone. "Valdone's going to turn off and go on a parallel road. Vecchio's just pulled up behind us and he'll spell us when we need it." 

Jack shook his head. "I guess watching all of those cop shows actually do the public some good." 

Louis huffed. "I'm sure they picked up these skills for some nefarious reason." 

Of course he should have let that go, but Jack couldn't. "Louis, shut up. I mean just shut the fuck up. They're helping us. Until we catch those men at something, I want you to shut up." 

Louis made a shocked gasp. "Okay, Jack. I'm sorry," he said in a soft voice. The cell phone rang again. "Gardino. Okay. Excellent." He closed the phone. "Pull over onto Butler and run parallel with the limo. Valdone is in front because he's convinced they're heading to the Jukebox." 

Jack nodded as he made the maneuver. The Jukebox was a new place where teens could basically train for the meat market club scene of their twenties. They had fancy fruit drinks in colorful glasses with even more colorful names and extreme prices. It's proximity to the 'hood meant that poorer kids felt compelled to go there and spend their last dime to hang and listen to live music and say they saw the next big rapper or crooner while they were coming up. 

Huey floored the car and shot ahead of the caravan. He trusted Vecchio not to lose the limo and his older dark green car wouldn't raise an eyebrow in this area. 

"You're leaving them behind," Louis complained. 

"We're not going to be late to this party," Jack swore. 

. . . . 

"How am I doing?" Turnbull asked as he maneuvered the big truck down the narrow two-lane. When he'd driven vehicles this large before he hadn't had to worry about other vehicles or even a road. Why would anyone in an urban environment want an SUV this large? 

"Excellent," Joey insisted. "I knew you could handle it." He speed-dialed someone. "Ray, Huey has gone onto Butler and he's ahead of us now. We're still running parallel and Rennie will smash the hell out of that limo before we let it get away." He paused. "Yeah, that gray sedan is perfect for the lead vehicle. Huey did the right thing by going ahead. There's no doubt in my mind we're on our way to the Jukebox. I'll beep Barbara and tell her to do a free round to get everyone back inside and to put William out as bait." He closed the phone. 

"A free round?" Rennie inquired. 

Joey smiled at him. He really had a beautiful smile. "They do videos for the bands and to make sure there is a large crowd for the film, they ring the bell over the bar and give everyone a free drink. Instant crowd." 

"What kind of drinks?" Rennie had to ask. If they had someone inside who could serve as bait, then the crowd had to be distressingly young. 

"One step above orange juice and Kool-Aid as far as I can tell, but the kids love it," Joey reported. He answered the phone again. "Valdone. Yeah... great, Huey." He punched two buttons. "Welsh, we're on it." He pressed another button. "Ray, we're on conference call with Huey and Welsh. Right. Right. Okay, I can see the lights. Rennie, pull up right behind the limo. If it tries to back up, I need you to stay on its bumper." 

"Understood," Rennie promised. It was counter-survival to deliberately place your vehicle in the path of a larger one, but his brief from Joey was simple--the limo does not leave. 

. . . . 

Huey watched the crowded lot in front of the Jukebox empty as if by magic. The kids rushed inside like there was a fire on the lot. As the car came to a halt, he could hear a bell being rung. 

"It sounds like 'last call for alcohol'," Jack announced. 

"Nothing gets speed out of a kid like something free. They're supposed to be giving some of those fancy fruit drinks away," Louis informed him. "Valdone told me. They're sending out some bait." 

Jack didn't like the sound of that. He especially didn't like it when he saw their bait. The boy was as pretty as a girl, with long brown hair and large brown eyes. He leaned against the wall just outside the door and pulled his jacket collar up. It made him look even younger. 

"Damn, that's some dangerous jail bait," Louis remarked. "Our perp will definitely want to go for that." 

"He's a child and that's obvious," Jack said disgustedly. 

"And that's what our perp wants." Louis suddenly jumped in his seat. "He's here." 

The limo slid into the lot that was still mostly empty. All but a few of the club's patrons would have taken the 'el' because they were too young to drive. 

Jack released his seatbelt and made ready to jump out of the car. 

An average height woman, well rounded, wearing a chauffeur's uniform complete with hat, emerged from the limo. It was her. "Don't shoot her yet," Jack warned, but it was more for himself than Louis. 

"I want the full set," Louis promised. 

The woman said something to the kid and the boy ducked his head, twisted his foot, and dropped his apparent age another three years. 

Vecchio's Riviera pulled into the lot and flanked the limo and Valdone's Humvee pulled up behind it. Jack and Louis exited their sedan. 

"Tell me I'm not going to go off," Jack begged. "Tell me that." 

"Hey, you're Jack Huey. You are the Sultan of smooth, calm confidence," Louis insisted. "It's me, the Italian Hothead, we have to worry about." 

Jack watched Valdone and Vecchio menace the limo. "We've got three hotheaded Italians to worry about." 

Three bruisers, straight out of some mad scientist's vat, emerged from the club and separated the woman from the kid. 

"Get your hand off me," the woman commanded. She made a very fancy martial arts move that went by too quickly for Huey to describe. It got her from goon number one, held up goon number two, but Vecchio had a gun. 

"I don't see an 'S' on your chest, lady, so you are not bulletproof," Vecchio warned. 

Huey really admired Ray's stance and grip. He had the solid brick wall of the club as a backstop and there was no one between the woman and the bullet. She had also rid herself of any possible hostages. 

The woman smiled. "You've got nothing on me." 

"We have videotape with vocal of you offering cash for sex with an underaged male," goon number two announced. 

Louis moved up and cuffed the woman. He started to pronounce her rights while Huey went toward the limo now that the more physically dangerous one had been subdued. 

"Detective Huey, Chicago PD. Get out, sir," Jack ordered. 

The limo roared to life and its tires spun as it tried to reverse out of the lot. It could have gone forward, but it would have run into the reinforced guardrails that began making themselves known in front of public buildings after the US lost two embassies to car bombs. 

Simple physics said the limo would win the war based on vehicle weight, but no one told Constable Turnbull that. Huey had heard Valdone tell the young man, in no uncertain terms, that the limo could not get away. Turnbull performed a preemptive strike. He gunned the over-powered motor of the impossibly large truck and slammed it into the limo. The limo slid to the side and came to a halt against the guardrail. 

Vecchio, Fraser, and Huey rushed the car while Valdone went to check on Turnbull. 

"Out," Huey ordered, fully ready to put a few bullets into the windows. 

"The glass isn't bulletproof," Vecchio warned in an eerily calm voice. 

The man emerged from the limo. He was average height, dressed almost as well as Vecchio, and the creep was smiling. "Gentlemen, I will be home while you're still doing the paperwork." 

"He wants you to hit him, Jack," Fraser warned, his irritating banality nowhere in sight. "Don't give in to it." 

It was good advice and Jack decided to take it. He patted the man down, found his wallet, read the ID, and then read the man his rights. 

"I'm quite all right," Turnbull insisted, unable to keep that upper crust sound out of his voice. Jack turned and gasped when he saw the blood on the young man's forehead. He knew head wounds bled all out of proportion to their severity, but this looked really bad. 

"Humor me," Valdone insisted, his voice terribly soft and comforting. 

Vecchio sprinted over like Turnbull was one of his kids. He applied a monogrammed handkerchief to the young Mountie's wound. "Easy there, Rennie." 

"I have one of my own," Turnbull insisted. He seemed shocked to find that his hand was shaking as he tried without success to extract something from his pocket. 

The sound of approaching sirens was very comforting for Jack. It even managed to help drown out the sound of the latest Hip-Hop lament and the excited babble of the club's attendants clamoring at the partially open doors. 

<<==============>>

"I could have taken him back to my place," Joey insisted as he gently closed the door on the downstairs guestroom where Renfield Turnbull, Mountie and Action Hero, was tucked in and sleeping quietly. 

Ray sighed. "Joey, your place is too far away and you'd have no help. Besides, you probably only have two-week old takeout in your refrigerator." He patted his friend on the shoulder. "You keep Rennie here until he's back on his feet." 

"Thanks, Ray," Joey said gratefully as the reality of his situation finally penetrated his brain. They hugged tightly. 

"Now let's see what the wolf left for us," Ray suggested. They'd left Benny and the wolf in the kitchen to be pampered by Gayle, whose Vecchio cosseting skills were still sadly underdeveloped. 

The wolf had made out like a bandit on soup bones and a steak that was 'accidentally' dropped on the kitchen floor. Benny had to make do with veal scallopine. 

Gayle served Ray and Joey. "Grandma sent over plenty. Jordan polished off most of the ravioli, though." 

Ray checked his watch. Despite all of the drama of the search, arrest, having various vehicles towed, and taking young Turnbull to have his handsome and heroic head checked, it was only eight thirty. "He left already?" 

"The family probably scared him away," Joey suggested. 

"They did not," Gayle declared indignantly. "He had to go to bed early. When Frank and Mario brought him over for dinner, Jordan told us right away he had to be in bed by nine. He's got several interviews tomorrow and the first one is at six in the morning." 

"Poor kid," Ray groaned. "Did he have a good time?" 

"The best," Gayle swore. "We sang badly around the piano until he took over. Then we shared family stories, taught him some Italian, and fed him until he had to loosen his belt." 

Ray chuckled. "That must have pleased Ma." 

"He has an enormous appetite and two hollow legs," Gayle reported. "He actually went for thirds on the Tiramisu." 

Ray stopped eating. "Thirds? Ma must have been in heaven." Ray never even bothered attempting seconds on his mother's Tiramisu. The cream cheese and ladyfinger dessert was just too rich. 

"She's preparing him a feast for tomorrow so the, and I'm quoting here, poor baby won't have to eat that catered stuff after his big night. He's coming over as soon as the concert is over." Gayle shook her head. "You'd think a woman with as much family and hard core drop-ins as she has was already doing enough cooking." 

Ray waved his hand. Gayle was just too modern to understand her grandmother. Gina Vecchio was born and bred to nurture and guide her family and luckily for the world, her family was subject to expansion at the drop of a fork. 

"It makes her happy, Gayle," he tried to explain, knowing he'd probably failed. 

"It's too bad I can't tell my friends he was here or that he's coming back," Gayle lamented. 

"Are you afraid they'll tell too many people?" Benny asked. 

Gayle looked toward the ceiling and mouthed "deliver me". She lowered her chin and smiled at Fraser. "With my crowd, Ben, telling one person is like having a press conference on the White House steps. They'd alert the media while I was still on the phone. Nothing, and I mean nothing, would stop them from gabbing on and on." Gayle waved her hands in classic Vecchio fashion. "This house would be overrun and Dad's team would have to make a last stand." 

"Or we could throw powdered sugar on them and let Diefenbaker send them packing," Benny suggested with a positive glint in his eyes. 

There was a momentary silence as the enormity of the fact that Benton Fraser had made a joke sank in; then Joey started to laugh. "He'd have to squish them all to see who had a jelly filling." 

Ray needed this laugh. It felt good. He reached over and squeezed Benny's thigh. Vecchio hadn't meant it to be a come on, but there was no mistaking the way Benny licked his lips and his cheeks blushed. Oh yeah, Benny wanted him. 

Ray turned to Joey. "I'll put some soup in the crockpot in case Rennie should wake up. Don't let him overdo," he added. 

Joey nodded. "It must be a Canadian thing. He's stubborn and thinks he's invincible." He eyed Benny. "That's rough on people who want to look after them." It was a warning to Benny not to worry Ray, but Ray was Italian and worry was encoded into his DNA. 

"You have to have a firm hand, Joey," Ray explained as he placed his hand on Ben's shoulder. "You've just got to hold the reins very tightly." 

Joey nodded. "Reins," he mused. 

"Well, I think it's time I said my goodnights," Gayle declared, shooting to her feet. "That leaves the dishes for you guys." She kissed Ray and Joey, then after some hesitation, kissed Benny on the cheek. 

Benny's hand went up to his cheek where she'd kissed it as if it were hot. Ray got a cold dull ache in his gut that told him Benny had been long on sex but short on true affection. That was sad, but luckily Benny wasn't too old for Ray to help him catch up. 

"Goodnight, Darling," Ray said as the men all stood for his daughter. 

Gayle blushed and swished away in a cape of long brown hair. She was closely trailed by the overfed wolf. 

"I doubt she has pastry in her room," Benny called. 

"I wouldn't be too sure," Ray teased. "It's not the tidiest place in the world." 

The men finished their meal. Ray waved Joey off to tend to their hero while he prepared the soup and Benny loaded up the dishwasher. 

"Benny, have you thought about where you'll stay when you begin duty?" Ray asked. He'd already decided that Benny was going to take the Chicago posting. It was the only course of action that made sense. Why else would he want to spend his leave with Ray? The possibility of a pity/goodbye fuck was not going to be entertained. 

Benny measured precisely the amount of detergent the manufacturer suggested for a full load and poured it in the receptacle. "I think I need to find my own apartment, Ray," he answered as he turned around. 

"Afraid the wolf will eat himself to death if you stay here?" Ray asked, stifling the hurt, but only a bit. 

"No, it's your daughter," Benny answered. "Her reaction to what was a very subdued conversation tells me she is not ready for me to reside here." 

Ray didn't like having his toys taken away at all. "Benny, it will be another year before she leaves for college." 

Benny looked very sad. "I know, but that's not that long considering how old I am." He stepped into Ray's space and kissed him. This was the official end of that conversation and Ray had lost without being able to argue about it at all. Benny pulled back, his lips plump from their kissing. "I never want to be a wedge between you and your family, Ray. You've got such a loud, wonderful family and I want... I want--" 

Ray suddenly understood. Benny wanted not just Ray, but the entire Vecchio package, warts and all. He didn't believe he could get that if Ray jammed him down everyone else's throat. 'Hey, everyone, this is Benny. He's my boyfriend. Love him or lump it, but remember I hold the checkbook.' 

It would be a bloodbath, emotion-wise. 

"You know I'm right," Benny insisted. 

"Just this once," Ray agreed. "Don't let it go to your head." 

"No, Ray," he promised. "You're the only thing going to my head." 

"Where I'm going to is a lot lower on your body," Ray corrected. He placed a lick on the larger man's earlobe. "Share a shower with me?" 

Benny nodded, looking very pleased with the idea. 

It was rather nippy outside, so Ray started the fireplace. You could do it the hard way with kindling, but Ray was in a hurry for some heat and ambience, so he flicked the automatic ignition. He started to undress, but Benny pushed his hands away. 

"Let me do that, please," Benny insisted. "I've been dreaming about your buttons for weeks." 

"These particular buttons?" Ray teased as he allowed the other man to undress him. 

"Any shirt button that belongs to you would do, Ray," Benny answered, the concentration on his face was almost disconcerting. "I just wanted to release them from their cloth restraints and feel the heat, generated by your body, as it clung to them." 

"That's poetic," Ray said admiringly. 

"You're my muse." Ben exposed Ray's neck and then began nibbling on it like a tender vampire. "You're like a tether that pulls me up instead of holding me down." 

"If you keep talking like that, you're not going to make it to the bathroom before I'm all over you," Ray warned. "I need to climb all over you and find out if you ever sweat." 

"You make me sweat," Benny replied huskily. 

There are certain challenges no Italian man can turn his back on--(1) any insult to your mother, (2) any insult to your spouse, (3) any insult to your children, and (4) 'you make me sweat'. 

They weren't likely to run out of water, hot or otherwise, any time soon. Ray pushed Benny back onto the bed. 

"Let's see this sweating," Ray insisted as he pulled Ben's shirt over his head. "Non avete segreti." 

"What?" Benny moaned. 

"You have no secrets," Ray translated. 

"No secrets," Benny agreed. "Not from you." 

Benny was wearing a tight t-shirt underneath, and it was moist with sweat but not as sticky as Ray had been hoping. The man needed mussing up and Ray was just the one to do it. 

He leaned over Benny and placed his mouth over the larger man's left nipple. "Did you miss me?" he asked just before clamping his teeth down onto his lover's sensitive flesh. 

Benny bucked underneath him like a stallion refusing to take harness. Ray pulled the flesh and released it. Benny rewarded him with another buck and a satisfying whimper. 

"I should punish you for not coming straight back to Chicago, stripping yourself naked, and crawling into my bed," Ray said dangerously. Benny shivered. Ray was far too familiar with fear to mistake that reaction. His Benny wasn't afraid; he was excited. Ray hit a kink for this man that obviously hadn't been satisfied before. That put them on an even footing because having Benny here was equally kinky for Ray. 

"Such defiant little bitches should know what kind of punishment they are going to receive," Ray continued, giving Benny his signal. He sucked the larger man's throat where the shoulder and neck joined. Benny smelled like honest man sweat and strong soap. 

Ray moved his hands down Benny's stomach until his thumbs went into the waistband of the larger man's pants. Benny was wearing button-fly jeans, but Ray made short work of those. He reached around the base of the other man's cock and stopped when he felt something there. 

Looking down, Ray found a flat, thick blue ribbon with white lettering that read PROPERTY OF RAYMOND VECCHIO. Ray removed the ribbon and Benny came on his hand and arm. The man's entire body seemed to be shattered by that sudden release. 

Ray wondered if Benny had any idea how he looked. Pants down around his knees, no sign of briefs, t-shirt bunched up under his armpits, and cum clinging to his still-rigid cock and dripping down on his stomach. He looked ready to eat, ready to be fucked, and just plain beautiful. 

"Nice," Ray said as he held the ribbon up. The property statement was repeated six times down its length. "Did you make this or did you have someone make it for you?" he asked. 

"I had it made for me. For us," Benny almost stammered. 

Ray smiled. "So several people know you're my property. I like that. Did you let them measure it on your cock so it would fit perfectly?" 

"No, I did that myself," Benny insisted, his blue eyes as dark as the sea at night. 

"Good," Ray replied, "I'm feeling kind of possessive about this." He gave his lover's cock a firm squeeze, just the way he knew Benny liked it. The flesh felt good and comfortable in his hand. He could have kept his hand there the rest of the night. 

"Jesus Christ, Ray, don't just hold it," Benny begged. His hips did a wicked little dance of need. 

"Ssshhhhhh," Ray soothed as he finished stripping Benny naked. Considering what he was about to do, that soft sound should have been considered false advertising. He didn't have Benny's skill at this, yet, but Ray had something that always stood him in good stead--his concentration. 

When he was a kid there was one treat he could never turn down when he arrived at Milo's grocery store--Tootsie Pops. Some people ruined the whole anticipation part by biting down as soon as they had sucked away enough of the hard candy shell. Ray didn't like to be rushed and he had always been very oral. 

He started sucking on his new flavor of Tootsie Pop--Benton Fraser, and no matter how Benny begged, no matter what howling, begging, pleading noise the man made, Ray did not stop licking and sucking until he reached the center and received his treat. 

"Gawd, gawd, gawd," Benny murmured. His entire body relaxed underneath Ray. "Oh, Ray." 

"That sounded like applause to me, Benny," Ray noted as he stood and finished undressing. He settled between Benny's lewdly spread legs. "Now let's go for a standing ovation." 

Benny made a sound. It could have been a protest of some sort, which Ray would dutifully ignore because he knew what Benny needed and wanted, or it could have been a plea, which Ray would now fulfill. It was all good. 

"I know," Ray promised as he grabbed a condom and a squirt of lube from the dispenser on the nightstand. He'd come to dislike the tubes he'd first obtained and purchased the elegant looking glass bottle for the bedside. The guy who'd sold it to him had also offered Ray a blowjob as a bonus for the purchase. It wasn't the first brazen proposal he'd had that day. 

Ray was not going to tell Benny that he'd had several offers to take his lover's place. It would have sounded like bragging to a man who could hardly take a breath without someone wanting to get under his clothes. Vecchio had no idea what sort of invisible signal he'd suddenly started to put out, but he needed to get that "open for business" sign off his ass before he had one big, cuddly pouting Canadian on his hands. 

Benny moaned, shivered, and slowly humped himself on Ray's fingers as they invaded the hot depths of his body. "Yes, that's what I want," the Canadian insisted. 

"Glad to hear it," Ray said as he covered the heavier man. Ray slid smoothly and easily into Benny's well-trained passage. He wasn't thinking about who had come before, that wasn't important. Ray was only thinking how clever the man was to get so much training before he made his way to their bed. "Damn," Ray groaned as he started a slow rocking motion that settled him as deeply as possible inside Benny. 

Benny wrapped his legs around Ray's waist, letting his ankles cross and his heels dig into the small of Ray's back. Not that Ray minded at all. It was a move that encouraged Ray to give Benny more and more cock until Ray felt every muscle in his body was dedicated to the task of fucking this beautiful man. 

"Can you? Can you? Can you, Ray?" Benny asked cryptically. 

Ray wasn't sure he knew what Benny was asking for, not that he had enough brain power left to do any kind of thinking, so he did what he hoped the other man wanted. He gripped Benny's big nipples and pinched them. Benny had huge nipples and to Ray that meant they needed to be played with, teased, tortured, bit, sucked, and licked. Benny should be tied down in an easy-fuck position and his naughty nipples toyed with until the Mountie spilled all of Canada's secrets or at least his own. 

He kissed the man, capturing his wide-open mouth and tasting his tongue. Benny's groan started somewhere back in Canada and rushed through his entire body. Ray felt the hot squirt of the other man's cum hitting him on the stomach. Oh yeah, that was the thing. 

"I want to hear you scream, Benny," Ray warned as he pulled back. He bent his lover's legs back until his knees were touching the mattress on either side of his head and plowed Benny's ass until the larger man was howling like a wolf. "Louder, bitch, louder," Ray commanded, remembering Benny's plea to be made Ray's bitch. And a more defiant "bitch" Ray was not likely to find. How dare Benny not beg to move in? Such failure to be a good and proper little bitch required strenuous fucking. 

Ray changed his position and grip, bringing Benny's legs together and holding the larger man by the ankles. Vecchio had witnessed one of the most vocal and swivel-hipped of Irene's bottom-boy models get plowed like this by a straight male model just two weeks out of the Marines. Ripped and tattooed, the ex-Marine had shown incredible stamina and need that wild day. Ray might not have had that man's muscles, but he had more than enough dick and determination to do the job. 

Benny beat the mattress with his balled up fists as if he'd lost his mind. "Ray, Ray, Ray!!!" 

Ray came but kept plowing his naughty bitch till even he had to admit he was wiped. He gently lowered Benny's legs with the last of his strength and lay full out across the larger man's trembling body. "See what happens to naughty bitches who fail to obey?" he asked as he ran a finger through the sweat on Benny's smooth chest. 

"I'll... I'll try to obey," Benny promised, closing his eyes and smiling. 

"Liar," Ray whispered. They shared a slow, soft kiss. 

<<==============>>

Joey stepped into the guestroom, undressed, and slipped into the bed with Rennie. If his friend was worried about his virtue, and Renfield was too smart not to be worried with Valdone in the same county, then he could easily assure the man he had no plans. Not while the man was recovering from a car wreck. Later... well, Joey was not made of stone. At least not all of him. 

Rennie turned over and automatically threw his beefy arm over Joey. Joey was in excellent shape, but he felt absolutely flabby beside the highly defined, much younger man. If another man as large as Rennie had held him down like this, Joey would have instantly pushed him off; but he felt safe and relaxed with this man. 

"Joey?" Rennie inquired softly. He reached over and turned on the bedside lamp. 

"In the flesh, my man." Joey checked his watch. It had been four hours since Rennie had eaten and had his pain medicine. He didn't have a concussion, a miracle considering the amount of blood on the man's forehead, but he did have stitches and bruises. "Would you like something to eat or maybe one of your pain pills?" 

"I don't want to be a bother," Rennie replied, going into Canadian Super Hero mode. It must have been taught at the academy, along with boot polishing and how to say 'move along' in several languages. 

Joey lifted the heavier man's chin up to look at the bruise the airbag had left there. "I'll let you know when you become a bother, Rennie, and I don't see it happening." 

Rennie smiled. He had a dazzling smile that was ready for toothpaste commercials. "You're very sweet." 

"That's me alright," Joey agreed. "How about one of those pain pills?" 

"I'm more hungry," Rennie explained. 

"You're in luck, Ray promised to leave one of his fantastic soups in the crockpot for you. Can I bring you anything else?" Joey asked as he got out of the bed. 

Rennie's eyes widened, making Joey look where the younger man was looking. Oops. Joey's boxers were silk and very comfortable, but they could not conceal his interest in his current surroundings. "It'll go away," Valdone promised. "It doesn't think very well, despite all the opportunities I've given it to try." 

Rennie giggled. "I see," he managed to say. 

"Anything else?" Joey prompted. He was in a pampering mood and the man was not helping at all. 

"Something to drink and maybe a few crackers," Rennie suggested. All he needed to make Joey's day was to bat his lashes, but the guy was still trying to hang tough. It must have been part of the Mountie DNA. 

Valdone found the promised soup right away, a minestrone that despite its delicate appearance, would be quite hearty. Joey pulled out a tray and loaded up soup, half a loaf of sourdough bread, whipped butter, some freshly grated Parmesan, a package of saltine crackers, apple juice, orange juice, and some grapes. What Rennie didn't want, Joey would finish. Resisting the man was going to make him bite into something. 

"That looks wonderful," Rennie said as he sat up. Joey wondered how many sit ups those abs had required and whether they were done in silent dedication to Queen and Country. 

"Damn, I thought it would have gone away by now," Joey quipped as he placed his tray on the table beside the bed. "It must be your presence." 

Rennie grinned. "You're a very naughty man." 

"Sweet and naughty, what a combination," Joey noted as he tied an oversized napkin around Rennie's neck. Okay, Rennie was a big boy, a very big boy, but Joey fed him anyway. 

Rennie had a little bit of soup clinging to his bottom lip, which normally would have gotten a dab from the napkin, but Joey reasoned that a kiss was called for here and that said kiss did not mean that Joey was going to jump the other man. No matter how much he was itching to do it. 

He expected a soft kiss back, Rennie had such a soft mouth, but Rennie grabbed the back of Joey's head and kissed him breathless, senseless, and damn near morals-less. "You're a dangerous man," Joey noted. 

"Coming from you, that's quite a compliment," Rennie responded, going in for another kiss, which Joey did not resist. 

It was at this point that Joey's survival instincts kicked in. JOSEPH VALDONE, YOU ARE OUT OF YOUR LEAGUE, it warned him. 

"How many?" Rennie asked as he teased the back of Joey's neck with the cracker he held in his left hand. 

"You can have every cracker in the house," Joey swore, wondering where crackers figured into his current situation. 

"Not the crackers, Joey, men," Rennie clarified. "How many men have you been with?" he asked. 

It didn't take too long to count that tiny number. "Three." 

"Sweet," Rennie sighed. "I'm guessing you're a top." 

Joey nodded, not sure how he could answer that without sounding like the "I've got to be in charge" prick he was. 

"So you see me under you, taking all of your weight and power?" Rennie asked. 

Joey's jaw dropped. "That is the sexiest thing anyone has ever said to me." 

"I find that hard to believe," Rennie insisted. "But answer the question. Do you only see me on the receiving end?" 

Again, Joey nodded. 

"The last time I was pursued by a man, he was a confirmed top. I told myself that I wasn't going to go through that again," Rennie explained. 

"What happened?" Joey asked. 

"He was obsessed with his masculinity. He couldn't bottom, not much kissing, and he could only be seen with men who looked and acted straight." Rennie sighed. "I had to sever all ties with him." 

Joey had something to say, he really did, and it would have been as smooth as glass. Instead, he kissed the younger man softly. 

Rennie grinned at him. "Joey, you've got a top's attitude and stance, but I think I see something else." He pulled Joey down on the bed and placed him on his stomach. "Do you trust me?" he asked, even though he already had Joey at a distinct disadvantage. 

"Yes," Joey lied. He trusted Ray, trusted the man with his life, but when it came down to it, Joey had shut down rather than risk being fucked. How could he trust Rennie, whom he'd only known a few weeks, more than he trusted Ray? 

Rennie's hand went in Joey's shorts, gripped his ass, and one finger slipped between Joey's cheeks. Something warm and slippery made contact with his hole and Joey tried to push Rennie off, but it was useless, Rennie held him securely. Joey could have called out and three of their men would have been there within seconds, but Rennie, sweet heroic Rennie would also be dead with his name and reputation ruined. 

With Joey face down and Rennie's hand down Joey's pants, their first thought would be rape, not something consensual and they would blow the Mountie's head off. By the time Joey explained, it would already be about nine minutes too late. Their people would have had to portray Renfield Turnbull as a rapist who was stopped or send their security detail to prison. 

Rennie would be dead because Joey was a chickenshit. That scared Joey more than the thought of Rennie putting his finger in Joey's hole. 

"I'll stop if it really frightens you, Joey, but I'm betting you like the way this feels and you don't want me to stop," Rennie promised, his soft voice so very comforting. 

The man was right; this did feel good. Rennie relaxed his grip and Joey stayed in place to feel the other man's finger dance like a ballerina around his hole. 

"Do you want me to pull your shorts down?" Rennie asked, his words leaving a mist of desire on the back of Joey's neck. 

Joey didn't want Rennie to stop what he was doing, so he pulled his own boxers off. They landed against the closet door, but Joey, who was normally a neat freak, let them lie. 

"You have a beautiful body--" Rennie began. 

"For a man about to run forty over," Joey finished. 

"For a man any age," Rennie corrected. "You have such a beautiful complexion and such large firm muscles. Your bottom is quite spectacular." 

"Thanks," Joey groaned as his balls were cupped. Fingers fluttered around the flesh, indicating that Rennie was using both hands on him now. Joey's legs spread a little wider to get more contact. This teasing was making him want more and more. 

"You must be capable of very strong, deep thrusts," Rennie noted as his hands moved up and down Joey's thighs. "You're so powerful that you're afraid to let it go with a woman. In your mind, no woman could possibly enjoy that kind of power. You're wrong, of course, but it's in the back of your mind. 

"Do you have this woman's phone number?" Joey inquired just in case the guy was speaking from experience. 

"Yes, I do," Rennie replied. 

"And?" Joey prompted. 

"A Mountie maintains a Code of Honour in his sex life, or he is nothing," Rennie insisted. 

"Damn," Joey groaned, and not from the loss of the phantom Super-Fuck woman. Rennie's thumbs needed to be registered as lethal weapons. He was letting them chase each other across Joey's perineum, making Joey go up on his knees as he pulled back. 

"Look where you are and what you're doing, Joey," Rennie whispered. "See what you miss trying to stay on top." He wiggled under Joey until their cocks were aligned, then pulled Joey down until they could hump each other. 

Joey hadn't done it this way since he was a spotty-faced teenager convinced every girl he looked at too hard would get pregnant. It felt as good as he remembered, but he was not so far gone that he couldn't think of his young, battered hero. Rennie had taken out that heavy armored limo with the only vehicle they had to compete, Joey's now deceased Humvee. It had died heroically, and that was all you could ask of a Humvee. 

He rolled them over so that Rennie was on top and Joey wasn't putting any extra weight on the younger man's bruises. 

"You like me on top of you, don't you?" Rennie asked, his voice a ragged, throaty moan. 

"Yes, yes," Joey confessed. Rennie's ultra-masculine body was as comfortable as a good wool coat in a stiff breeze. He felt like Rennie was meant to be where he was. 

"Good," Rennie said as he split Joey's legs and put them in a fucking position. Joey momentarily froze, but relaxed as Rennie's rigid dick did not skewer him. "It's okay, Joey," the younger man promised. "We're not going to do that yet." 

Yet. He said yet. Joey knew when the moment to protest and brag about the shagging he was going to lay on Rennie came and went without a sound that he was lost. Rennie was going to fuck Joey, and there was nothing he could, or perhaps wanted, to do to stop it. Joey was lost. 

"I'm going to be touching your most secret place with my cock, Joey, and you're going to love it, I'm going to love it, and we're going to do it again and again." He sucked Joey's lower lip. "You're going to beg me to do it." 

"What am I going to say?" Joey asked suicidally. 

Rennie reached between them, gripped both their cocks in his large hand, and stroked. "You're going to say, 'Rennie, I need your cock in my ass. Give it to me.'" 

Joey's mind slid into a parallel universe where that was not only a possibility but a certainty. He came in Rennie's capable hand, his mouth open and his eyes wide. Rennie kept pumping until he came too. 

He slid down Joey's body and settled his handsome blond head on Joey's chest. "Thank you kindly." 

"You're welcome," Joey replied, surprised to find that annoying phrase wasn't so annoying after all. It must have been because Rennie and not Fraser was saying it. 

<<==============>>

"Take your time," Jack encouraged as Paul Goddard looked at the six men in the lineup. "If you--" 

"He's number four," Paul announced, correctly identifying Joshua Reynolds after less than two minutes of viewing the suspects. He was their fifth straight victim to do so and Reynolds fancy lawyer was beginning to sweat. 

"That's the man who hurt me," Goddard said decisively. 

"Thank you, Paul," Welsh said, sounding very fatherly as he led the young man out. 

"Is there anything on the table?" Reynolds's lawyer, Gordon Fisk, inquired of ADA Wilson. 

"I'm not seeking the death penalty," Wilson replied through her teeth. 

Fisk paled, quite a feat when you considered how white the man started out. "This isn't a death penalty case," he protested. 

"And that's a crying shame," Wilson noted. 

"Those kids will never hold up under cross-examination, and you have no other witnesses," Fisk reminded the woman. "He'll plead guilty to solicitation." 

"We're not interested," Wilson assured the man, crossing her arms. 

"Your mistake," the lawyer said as he gathered his coat and briefcase. 

"If you'll check, you'll see that it was your client who made the mistake," Wilson declared. 

Fisk left without another word. 

Wilson turned to Jack. "Huey, can I take you to lunch? My treat," she added quickly. 

"Do you need to talk about the case?" Jack asked, wondering how he'd managed to climb up the evolutionary ladder enough to get noticed by Mary Wilson. 

"No, it's about the Canadian Consulate Ball. I was wondering if I could escort you?" she asked. "I have tickets and no date." 

That was a relief. It was a charity event and that meant very expensive tickets and then they had the nerve to pass the hat. Jack couldn't afford that so close to his move or any time right now. Money was so tight that Jack had let his newspaper subscription, one of his favorite things, lapse. 

"You don't already have a date, do you?" Mary asked, sounding worried. She really did want to go with Jack. That made him quite happy. Mary Wilson was one bright and lovely lady. 

"No, and I'd be honored," Jack responded as he offered her his arm. 

"Great," Mary replied as she took Jack's arm. The two of them walked out of the observation room and past Louis, who was talking to Paul's parents. His smile froze on his face. 

"See you after lunch, Louis," Jack called. He smiled at his partner and after a brief hesitation, Louis smiled back. The two of them had a lot to talk about, but not right now. 

At least the case was finally off their backs, but Jack knew that Joshua Reynolds was too rich for it to be over until the doors closed on him as he began his long sentence as a serial child rapist. They were going to have to watch their backs. 

The End 

* * *

End Keep Your Friends Close but Your Enemies Closer by YS McCool:

Author and story notes above.


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